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A  Change 


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of  Air 


HY 


Anthony  [Hope 


ANTHONY  HOPE  (HAWKINS: 


R.    F.    FENNO   &   COMPANY 

m  r  i :  iFTH   AVENUE  ^-— " NEW  YORK  CITY 


A  CHANGE  OF  AIR 


BY 


ANTHONY    HOPE.. 


R.    F.    FENNO   &   COMPANY, 

112  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  City. 


HENRY  MORS!  STEFNfikS 


•    •  • 
i  •  •  •  *  « 


A  CHANGE  OF  AIR. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  MISSION  TO  THE  HEATHER. 

When"  the  Great  King,  that  mirror  of  a  majesty  where- 
of modern  times  have  robbed  the  world,  recoiled  aghast 
from  the  threatened  indignity  of  having  to  wait,  he  laid  his 
finger  with  a  true  touch  on  a  characteristic  incident  of  the 
lot  of  common  men,  from  which  it  was  seemly  that  the 
state  of  Gfod's  viceregents  should  be  free.  It  was  a  small 
matter,  no  doubt,  a  thing  of  manners  merely,  and  eti- 
quette; yet  manners  and  etiquette  are  first  the  shadowed 
expression  of  facts  and  then  the  survival  of  them;  the  rev- 
erence once  paid  to  power,  and  now  accorded,  in  a  strange 
mixture  of  chivalry  and  calculation,  to  mere  place  whence 
power  has  fled.  The  day  of  viceregents  is  gone,  and  the 
day  of  officers  has  come;  and  it  is  not  unknown  that  offi- 
cers should  have  to  wait,  or  even — such  is  the  insolence, 
no  longer  of  office,  but  of  those  who  give  it — should  alto- 
gether go  without.  Yet,  although  everybody  has  now  to 
wait,  everybody  has  not  to  wait  the  same  length  of  time. 
For  example,  a  genius  needs  not  wait  so  long  for  what  he 
wants  as  a  fool — unless,  as  chances  now  and  then,  he  be 
both  a  genius  and  a  fool,  when  probably  his  waiting  will 
be  utterly  without  end. 

In  a  small  flat  in  Chelsea,  very  high  toward  heaven, 
there  sat  one  evening  in  the  summer,  two  young  men  and 
a  genius;  and  the  younger  of  the  young  men,  whose  name 
was  Arthur  Angell,  said  discontentedly  to  the  genius: 

"  The  brute  only  sent  me  ten  and  sixpence.  What  did 
you  get  for  yours?" 

The  genius  blushed  and  murmured  apologetically: 

"  That  agent  chap  I've  sold  myself  to  got  twenty  pounds 
for  it." 

865889 


6  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

The  second  young  man,  who  was  not  so  young,  being, 
in  fact,  well  turned:  of  .thirty,,  aijcl  .growing  bald,  took  his 
pipe  out  of  his  moiitb)  and  •pbihfcjg',0ie  stem  first  at  the 
genius,  then  at#  Arthur  .AngejJ,  an4  lastly,,  like  a  knife,  at 
his  own  breast; .sajcf #* •  y\  {.•  ♦  j  |     '.  •*.*■  ,  ,' 

"  Pounds — shillings — and  pence!'  He'  sent  me  nothing 
at  all." 

A  pause  followed,  and  the  genius  began: 

"  Look  here,  you  fellows—"  But  Philip  Hume  went 
on:  "  Ten  and  sixpence  is  a  good  sum  of  money,  a  com- 
fortable sum  of  money,  and,  my  dear  Arthur,  I  should 
say  the  full  value  of  your  poem.  As  to  Dale's  poem,  who 
knows  the  value  of  Dale's  poem?  By  what  rod  shall  you 
measure — "  He  broke  off  with  a  laugh  at  Dale's  gesture 
of  protest. 

"  I'm  making  the  deuce  of  a  lot  of  money,"  said  Dale, 
in  an  awe-struck  tone.  "  It's  rolling  in.  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  it." 

"  Littlehill  will  swallow  it,"  said  Philip. 

"  You  don't  mean  that  he  sticks  to  that  idea?"  ex- 
claimed Arthur.     "  You  don't,  do  you,  Dale?" 

"  I  do,"  answered  Dale.  "  I'm  not  going  permanently. 
I'm  not  going  to  forsake  our  old  ways  or  our  old  life.  I'm 
not  going  to  turn  into  a  rich  man." 

"  I  hope  not,  by  Jove!"  cried  Arthur. 

"  But  I  want  to  see  the  country — I've  not  seen  it  for 
years.     And  I  want  to  see  country  people,  and — and — " 

"  It'll  end  in  our  losing  you,"  prophesied  Arthur, 
gloomily. 

"  Nonsense!"  said  Dale,  flushing  a  little.  "  It'll  end  in 
nothing  of  the  sort.  I've  only  taken  the  house  for  a  year." 

"  A  gentleman's  residence,"  said  Philip;  "  five  sitting- 
rooms,  twelve  bedrooms,  offices,  stabling,  and  three  acres 
of  grounds." 

Arthur  groaned. 

"  It  sounds  a  villa  all  over,"  he  said. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Dale,  sharply;  "it's  a  country 
house." 

"  Is  there  any  difference?"  asked  Arthur,  scornfully. 

"  All  the  difference,"  said  Philip;  "  as  you  would  know 
if  you  moved  in  anything  approaching  respectable  circles." 

"I'm  glad  I  don't,"  said  Arthur.  "What  will  re- 
spectable circles  say  to  the  '  Clarion/  eh,  Dale?' 


»> 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  7 

"  Who  cares  what  they  say?"  laughed  Dale.  "  They 
seem  to  buy  it. ' ' 

Arthur  looked  at  him  with  revengeful  eye,  and  suddenly 
inquired. 

"  What  about  Nellie?" 

"  That's  just  the  delightful  part  of  it,"  answered  Dale, 
eagerly.  "  Nellie's  been  seedy  ever  so  long,  you  know. 
She  was  ordered  perfect  rest  and .  country  air.  But  it 
didn't  run  to  it." 

"  It  never  ran  to  anything  here,"  said  Philip  in  a  tone 
of  dispassionate  acquiescence  in  facts,  "till  you  became 
famous.' ' 

"Now  I  can  help!"  pursued  Dale.  "She  and  Mrs. 
Hodge  are  coming  to  pay  me  a  long  visit.  Of  course, 
Phil's  going  to  be  there  permanently.,  You'll  come  too, 
Arthur?" 

At  first  Arthur  Angell  said  he  would  not  go  near  a  villa; 
he  could  not  breathe  in  a  villa,  or  sleep  quiet  o'  nights  in  a 
villa;  but  presently  he  relented. 

"  I  can't  stand  it  for  long,  though,"  he  said.  "  Still, 
I'm  glad  you're  going  to  have  Nellie  there.  She'd  have 
missed  you  awfully.     When  do  you  go?" 

"  Actually,  to-morrow.     I'm  not  used  to  it  yet." 

Arthur  shook  his  head  again,  as  he  put  on  his  hat. 

"  Well,  good-night,"  said  he.     "  I  hope  it's  all  right" 

Dale  waited  till  the  door  was  closed  behind  his  guest, 
and  then  laughed  good-humoredly. 

"  I  like  old  Arthur,"  he  said.  "  He's  so  keen  and  in 
earnest  about  it.  But  it's  all  bosho  What  difference  can 
it  make  whether  I  live  in  London  or  the  country?  And 
it's  only  for  a  little  while." 

"  He  begins  to  include  you  in  the  well-to-do  classes,  and 
suspects  you  accordingly,"  replied  Philip. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  a  pretty  girl  came 
in. 

"Oh,  I  ran  up,"  she  said,  "to  ask  whether  this  hat 
would  do  for  Denshire.  I  don't  want  to  disgrace  you, 
Dale;"  and  she  held  up  a  hat  she  carried  in  her  hand. 

"  It  would  do  for  Paradise,"  said  Dale.  "  Besides, 
there  isn't  going  to  be  any  difference  at  all  in  Denshire. 
We  are  going  to  be  and  do  and  dress  just  as  we  are  and  do 
and  dress  here.     Aren't  we,  Phil?" 

"  That  is  the  scheme,"  said  Philip. 


8  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  We  shall  care  for  no  one's  opinion/'  pursued  Dale, 
warming  to  his  subject.  "  We  shall  be  absolutely  inde- 
pendent. We  shall  show  them  that  then-  way  of  living  is 
not  the  only  way  of  living.     We — " 

"  In  fact,  Nellie/'  interrupted  Philip,  "  we  shall  open 
their  eyes  considerably.     So  we  natter  ourselves." 

"  It's  not  that  at  all,"  protested  Dale. 

"  You  can't  help  it,  Dale,"  said  Nellie,  smiling  brightly 
at  him.  "  Of  course  they  will  open  their  eyes  at  the 
great  Mr.  Bannister.  We  all  open  our  eyes  at  him,  don't 
we,  Mr.  Hume?  Well,  then,  the  hat  will  do — as  a  week- 
day hat,  I  mean?" 

"A  week-day  hat?"  repeated  Philip.  "Dear  old 
phrase!  It  recalls  one's  happy  church-going  youth.  Have 
you  also  provided  a  Sunday  hat?" 

"  Of  course,  Mr.  Hume." 

"  And,  Dale,  have  you  a  Sunday  coat?" 

Dale  laughed. 

"  It's  a  pretty  excuse  for  pretty  things,  Phil,"  he  said. 
"  Let  Nellie  have  her  Sunday  hat.  I  doubt  if  they'll  let 
me  into  the  church." 

Philip  stretched  out  his  hand  and  took  up  a  glass  of 
whisky  and  water  which  stood  near  him. 

"  I  drink  to  the  success  of  the  expedition!"  said  he. 

"To  the  success  of  our  mission!"  cried  Dale,  gay  ly, 
raising  his  glass.     "  We  will  spread  the  light!" 

"Here's  to  Dale  Bannister,  apostle  in  partidusJ"  and 
Philip  drank  the  toast. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  NEW  MAN  AT  LITTLEHILL. 

Market  Denborough  is  not  a  large  town.  Perhaps 
it  is  none  the  worse  for  that,  and,  if  it  be,  there  is  compen- 
sation to  be  found  in  its  picturesqueness,  its  antiquity,  and 
its  dignity;  for  there  has  been  a  town  where  it  stands  from 
time  immemorial;  it  makes  a  great  figure  in  county  his- 
tories and  local  guide-books;  it  is  an  ancient  corporation, 
an  assize  town,  and  quarter-sessions  borough.  It  does  not 
grow,  for  country  towns,  dependent  solely  on  the  support 
of  the  rural  districts  surrounding,  are  not  given  to  grow- 
ing much  nowadays.  Moreover,  the  Delanes  do  not  readily 


A    CHAHGE    OF    AIR.  9 

allow  new  houses  to  be  built,  and  if  a  man  lives  in  Market 
Denborough,  lie  must  be  a  roofless  vagrant  or  a  tenant  of 
Mr.  Delane.  It  is  not  the  place  to  make  a  fortune;  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  unusual  recklessness  is  necessary  to  the 
losing  of  one  there.  If  the  triumphs  of  life  are  on  a  small 
scale,  the  struggle  for  existence  is  not  very  fierce,  and  a 
wise  man  might  do  worse  than  barter  the  uncertain 
chances  and  precarious  joys  of  a  larger  stage  to  play  a 
modest,  easy,  quiet  part  on  the  little  boards  of  Market 
Denborough. 

It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  the  lion  and  the 
lamb  have  quite  sunk  their  differences  and  lain  down  to- 
gether at  Market  Denborough.  There,  as  elsewhere,  the 
millennium  tarries,  and  there  are  not  wanting  fierce  feuds, 
personal,  municipal,  nay,  even,  within  the  wide  limits  of 
Mr.  Delane' s  tolerance,  political.  If  it  were  not  so,  the 
mayor  would  not  have  been  happy,  for  the  mayor  loved  a 
fight;  and  Alderman  Johnstone,  who  was  a  Eadical,  would 
have  felt  his  days  wasted;  and  the  two  gentlemen  would 
not  have  been,  as  they  continually  were,  at  loggerheads 
concerning  paving  contracts  and  kindred  subjects.  There 
was  no  want  of  interests  in  life,  if  a  man  were  ready  to 
take  his  own  part  and  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  the  doings  of 
his  neighbor.  Besides,  the  really  great  events  of  existence 
happened  at  Market  Denborough  much  as  they  do  in  Lon- 
don; people  were  born,  and  married,  and  died;  and  while 
that  rotation  is  unchecked,  who  can  be  seriously  at  a  loss 
for  matter  of  thought  or  topic  of  conversation? 

As  Mr.  James  Eoberts,  member  of  the  Eoyal  College  of 
Surgeons,  a  thin  young  man,  with  restless  eyes  and  tight- 
shut  lips,  walked  down  High  Street  one  hot,  sunuy  after- 
noon, it  never  entered  his  head  that  there  was  not  enough 
to  think  about  in  Market  Denborough.  ^  Wife  and  child, 
rent,  rates  and  taxes,  patients  and  prescriptions,  the  rela- 
tion between  those  old  enemies,  incomings  and  outgoings, 
here  was  food  enough  for  any  man's  meditations. 
Enough?  Ay,  enough  and  to  spare  of  such  distasteful, 
insipid,  narrow,  soul-destroying  stuff.  Mr.,  or,  to  give  him 
the  brevet  rank  all  the  town  gave  him,  Dr.  Roberts,  hated 
these  sordid,  imperious  interests  that  gathered  round  him 
and  hemmed  him  in,  shutting  out  all  else — all  dreams  of 
ambition,  all  dear,  long-harbored  schemes,  all  burning  en- 
thusiasms, even  all  chance  of  seeking  deeper  knowledge 


10  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

and  more  commanding  skill.  Sadly  and  impatiently  the 
doctor  shook  his  head,  trying  to  put  his  visions  on  one  side, 
and  nail  his  mind  to  its  work.  His  first  task  was  to  turn 
three  hundred  pounds  a  year  into  six  hundred  pounds.  _  It 
was  hard  it  should  be  so,  and  he  chafed  against  necessity, 
forgetting,  as  perhaps  he  pardonably  might,  that  the  need 
was  the  price  he  paid  for  wife  and  child.  Yes,  it  was 
hard;  but  so  it  was.  If  only  more  people  would  be— no, 
but  if  only  more  people  who  were  ill  would  call  in  Dr. 
Roberts!  Then  he  could  keep  two  horses,  and  not  have 
to  "  pad  the  hoof,"  as  he  phrased  it  to  himself,  about  swel- 
tering streets  or  dusty  lanes  all  the  long  afternoon,  because 
his  one  pony  was  tired  out  with  carrying  him  in  the  morn- 
ing to  Dirkham,  a  village  five  miles  off,  where  he  was 
medical  officer  at  a  salary  of  forty  pounds  by  the  year. 
That  was  forty,  and  Ethel  had  a  hundred,  and  the  profits 
from  his  paying  patients  (even  if  you  allowed  for  the  med- 
icine consumed  by  those  who  did  not  pay)  were  about  a 
hundred  and  fifty.  But  then  the  bills—  Oh,  well,  he 
must  go  on.  The  second  horse  must  wait,  and  that  other 
dream  of  his,  having  an  assistant,  that  must  wait,  too.  If 
he  had  an  assistant,  he  would  have  some  leisure  for  re- 
search, for  reading,  for  studying  the  political  and  social 
questions  where  his  real  and"  en  grossing  interest  lay.  He 
could  then  take  his  part  in  the  mighty  work  of  rousing — 

Here  his  meditations  were  interrupted.  He  had  reached, 
in  his  progress  down  the  street,  a  large  plate-glass-win- 
dowed shop,  the  shop  of  a  chemist,  and  of  no  less  a  man 
than  Mr.  James  Hedger,  Mayor  of  Market  Denborough. 
The  member  of  the  lower  branch  of  their  common  art  was 
a  richer  man  than  he  who  belonged  to  the  higher,  and 
when  Mr.  Hedger  was  playfully  charged  with  giving  the 
young  doctor  his  medicines  cheap,  he  never  denied  the  ac- 
cusation. Anyhow,  the  two  were  good  friends,  and  the 
mayor,  who  was  surveying  his  dominions  from  his  door- 
step, broke  in  on  Dr.  Roberts3  train  of  thought  with  a 
cheerful  greeting. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  news?5'  he  asked. 

"No;  I've  no  time  for  the  news.  I  always  look  to  you 
for  it,  Mr.  Mayor." 

"  It  mostly" comes  round  to  me,  being  a  center,  like/' 
said  the  niavor.     "It's  natural." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  this  time?"  asked  the  doctor,  calling 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  11 

up  a  show  of  interest.     He  did  not  care  much  for  Den- 
borough  news. 

"  Littlehill's  let,"  replied  the  mayor. 

Littlehill,  the  subject  of  Philip  Hume's  half-ironical 
description,  was  a  good  house,  standing  on  rising  ground 
about  half  a  mile  outside  the  town.  It  belonged,  of  course, 
to  Mr.  Delane,  and  had  stood  empty  for  more  than  a  year. 
A  tenant  at  Littlehill  meant  an  increase  of  custom  for  the 
tradespeople,  and  perchance  for  the  doctors.  Hence  the 
importance  of  the  mayor's  piece  of  news. 

''Indeed?"  said  Roberts.     "  Who's  taken  it?" 

"  Not  much  good — a  young  man,  a  bachelor,"  said  the 
mayor,  shaking  his  head.  Bachelors  do  not  require,  or 
anyhow  do  not  take,  many  chemist's  drugs.  "  Still,  I  hear 
he's  well  off,  and  pVaps  he'll  have  people  to  stop  with 
him." 

"  What's  his  name?" 

"  Some  name  like  Bannister.     He's  from  London." 

"  What's  he  coming  here  for?"  asked  Roberts,  who,  if 
he  had  been  a  well-to-do  bachelor,  would  not  have  settled 
at  Market  Denborongh. 

"  Why  shouldn't  he?"  retorted  the  mayor,  who  had 
never  lived,  or  thought  of  living,  anywhere  else. 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  have  thought  he'd  have  found  much 
to  do.  He  wouldn't  come  in  the  summer  for  the  hunt- 
ing." 

"Hunting?  Not  he!  He's  a  literary  gentleman- 
writes  poetry  and  what  not." 

"  Poetry?    Why,  it's  not  Dale  Bannister,  is  it?" 

"  Ay,  that's  the  name." 

"  Dale  Bannister  coming  to  Littlehill!  That  is  an  honor 
for  the  town!" 

"  An  honor?    What  do  you  mean,  sir?" 

"  Why,  he's  a  famous  man,  Mr.  Mayor.  All  London's 
talking  of  him. ' ' 

"  I  never  heard  his  name  in  my  life  before,"  said  the 
mayor. 

"  Oh,  he's  a  genius.  His  poems  are  all  the  rage.  You'll 
have  to  read  them  now." 

"He's  having  a  lot  done  up  there,"  remarked  the 
mayor.  "  Johnstone's  got  the  job.  Mr.  Bannister  don't 
know  as  much  about  Johnstone  as  some  of  us." 

"  How  should  he?"  said  Roberts,  smiling. 


12  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  Johnstone's  buildin'  'irn  a  room.  It'll  tumble  down." 
"  Oh,  come,  Mr.  Mayor,  you're  prejudiced." 
"No  man  can  say  that  of  me,  sir.     But  I  knows — I 
know  Johnstone,  doctor.     That's  where  it  is!" 

"  Well,  I  hoj^e  Johnstone's  room  won't  fall  on  him. 
We  can't  spare  Dale  Bannister.     Good-da}',  Mr.  Mayor." 
"  Where  are  you  goin'  ?" 
"ToTomSteaclman's." 

"  Is  he  bad  again?"  inquired  the  mayor,  with  interest. 
"  Yes.     He  broke  out  last  week,  with  the  usual  result." 
"  Broke  out?    Yes!     He  had  two  gallons  of  beer  and  a 
bottle  o'  gin  off  the  Blue  Lion  in  one  day,  the  landlord 
told  me." 

"  They  ought  to  go  to  prison  for  serving  him." 
"  Well,  well,  a  man  drinks  or  he  don't,"  said  the  mayor, 
tolerantly;  "  and  if  he  does,  he'll  get  it  some'ow.     Good- 
day,  sir." 

The  doctor  completed  his  rounds,  including  the  sooth- 
ing of  Tom  Steadman's  distempered  imagination,  and 
made  his  way  home  in  quite  a  nutter  of  excitement.  Hid- 
den away  in  his  study,  underneath  heavy  medical  works 
and  voluminous  medical  journals,  where  the  eye  of  pa- 
tients could  not  reach,  nor  the  devastations  of  them  that 
tidy  disturb,  lay  the  two  or  three  little  volumes  which  held 
Dale  Bannister's  poems.  The  doctor  would  not  have  ad- 
mitted that  the  poems  were  purposely  concealed,  but  he 
certainly  did  not  display  them  ostentatiously,  and  he  un- 
doubtedly told  his  wife,  with  much  decision,  that  he  was 
sure  they  would  not  prove  to  her  taste.  Yet  he  himself 
almost  worshiped  them;  all  the  untamed  revolt,  the  reck- 
lessness of  thought,  the  scorn  of  respectability,  the  scant 
regard  to  what  the  world  called  propriety,  which  he  had 
nourished  in  his  own  heart  in  his  youth,  finding  no  expres- 
sion for  them,  and  from  which  the  binding  chains  of  fate 
seemed  now  forever  to  restrain  his  spirit,  were  in  those 
three  slim  volumes.  First  came  "  The  Clarion,  and  Other 
Poems,"  a  very  small  book,  published  by  a  very  small  firm 
— published  for  the  author,  though  the  doctor  did  not 
know  this,  and  circulated  at  the  expense  of  the  same; 
then  "  Sluggards,"  from  a  larger  firm,  the  source  of  some 
few  guineas  to  Dale  Bannister,  of  hundreds  more  if  he  had 
not  sold  his  copyright;  and  lastly,  "  The  Hypocrite's 
Heaven/'  quite  a  lengthy  production,  blazoning  the  name 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIK.  13 

of  the  leading  house  of  all  the  trade,  and  bearing  in  its 
train  a  wealth  of  gold,  and  praise,  and  fame  for  the  author; 
yes,  and  of  rebuke,  remonstrance,  blame,  and  hands  up- 
lifted in  horror  at  so  much  vice  united  to  so  much  genius. 
Praise  and  rebuke  alike  brought  new  bricks  to  build  the 
pyramid  of  glory;  and  on  the  top  of  it,  an  object  of  ab- 
horrence and  of  worship,  stood  the  young  poet,  prodigally 
scattering  songs,  which,  as  one  critic  of  position  said  of 
them,  should  never  have  been  written,  but  being  written, 
could  never  die.  Certainly  the  coming  of  such  a  man  to 
settle  there  was  an  event  for  Market  Denborough;  it  was 
a  glorious  chance  for  the  poet's  silent,  secret  disciple.  He 
would  see  the  man;  he  might  speak  with  him;  if  fortune 
willed,  his  name  might  yet  be  known,  for  no  merit  of  his, 
but  as  that  of  Dale  Bannister's  friend. 

Women  have  very  often,  and  the  best  of  women  most 
often,  a  provoking  sedateness  of  mind.  Mrs.  Eoberts  had 
never  read  the  poems.  True,  but  she  had,  of  course,  read 
about  them,  and  about  their  author,  and  about  their  cer- 
tain immortality;  yet  she  was  distinctly  more  interested  in 
the  tidings  of  Tom  Steadman,  a  wretched  dipsomaniac, 
than  in  the  unparalleled  news  about  Dale  Bannister.  In 
her  heart  she  thought  the  doctor  a  cleverer,  as  she  had.  no 
doubt  he  was  a  better,  man  than  the  poet,  and  the  nearest 
approach  she  made  to  grasping  the  real  significance  of  the 
situation  was  when  she  remarked: 

"  It  will  be  nice  for  him  to  find  one  man,  at  all  events, 
who  can  appreciate  him." 

The  doctor  smiled;  he  was  pleased — who  would  not  be? 
— that  his  wife  should  think  first  of  the  pleasure  Dale 
Bannister  would  find  in  his  society !  It  was  absurd,  but  it 
was  charming  of  her,  and  as  she  sat  on  the  edge  of  his 
chair,  he  put  his  arm  round  her  waist,  and  said: 

"  I  beat  him  in  one  thing,  anyhow. " 

"  What's  that,  Jim?" 

"  My  wife.     He  has  no  wife  like  mine." 

"  Has  he  a  wife  at  all?"  asked  Mrs.  Eoberts,  with  in- 
creased interest.     A  wife  was  another  matter. 

"  I  believe  not,  but  if  he  had — " 

"  Don't  be  silly.     Did  you  leave  Tom  quiet?" 
;    "  Hang  Tom!  he  deserves  it.     And  give  me  my  tea." 

Then  came  the  baby,  and  with  it  an  end,  for  the  time, 
of  Dale  Bannister. 


14:  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 


CHAPTER  III. 

DENBOROUGH   DETERMINES  TO  CALL. 

"  I  will  awake  the  world/'  Dale  Bannister  had  once 
declared  in  the  insolence. of  youth  and  talent  and  the  pri- 
vacy of  a  gathering  of  friends.  The  boast  was  perhaps  as 
little  absurd  in  his  mouth  as  it  could  ever  be;  yet  it  was 
very  absurd,  for  the  world  sleeps  hard,  and  habit  has 
taught  it  to  slumber  peacefully  through  the  batterings  of 
impatient  genius  at  its  door.  At  the  most,  it  turns  un- 
easily on  its  side,  and,  with  a  curse  at  the  meddlesome  fel- 
low, snores  again.  So  Dale  Bannister  did  not  awake  the 
world.  But,  within  a  month  of  his  coming  to  Littlehill, 
he  performed  an  exploit  which  was,  though  on  a  smaller 
scale,  hardly  less  remarkable.  He  electrified  Market  Den- 
borough,  and  the  shock  penetrated  far  out  into  the  sur- 
rounding districts  of  Denshire — even  Denshire,  which,  re- 
mote from  villas  and  season-tickets,  had  almost  preserved 
pristine  simplicity.  Men  spoke  with  low-voiced  awe  and 
appreciative  twinkling  of  the  eye  of  the  "  doings  "  at  Lit- 
tlehill; their  wives  thought  that  they  might  be  better  em- 
ployed, and  their  children  hung  about  the  gates  to  watch 
the  young  man  and  his  guests  come  out.  There  was  dis- 
appointment when  no  one  came  to  church  from  Littlehill; 
yet  there  would  have  been  disappointment  if  any  one  had; 
it  would  have  jarred  with  the  fast-growing  popular  concep- 
tion of  the  household.  To  the  strictness  of  Denborough 
morality,  by  which  no  sin  was  leniently  judged  save  drunk- 
enness, Littlehill  seemed  a  den  of  jovial  wickedness,  and 
its  inhabitants  to  reck  nothing  of  censure,  human  or  divine. 

As  might  be  expected  by  all  who  knew  him,  the  mayor 
had  no  hand  in  this  hasty  and  uncharitable  judgment. 
London  was  no  strange  land  to  him;  he  went  up  four  times 
a  year  to  buy  his  stock;  London  ways  were  not  Denshire 
ways,  he  admitted,  but,  for  all  that,  they  were  not  to  be 
condemned  off-hand  nor  interpreted  in  the  worst  light 
without  some  pause  for  better  knowledge. 

"  It  takes  all  sorts  to  make  a  world/'  said  he,  as  he 
drank  this  afternoon  draught  at  the  Delane  Arms,  where 
the  civic  aristocracy  was  wont  to  gather. 


A   CHANGE    OF   AIR.  15 

"  He's  free  enough  and  to  spare  with  'is  money,"  said 
Alderman  Johnstone,  with  satisfaction. 

"You  ought  to  know,  Johnstone,"  remarked  the  mayor, 
significantly. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  see  no  'arm  in  him,"  said  Mr,  Maggs, 
the  horse-dealer,  a  rubicund  man  of  pleasant  aspect;  "  and 
he's  a  rare  'un  to  deal  with." 

Interest  centered  on  Mr.  Maggs.  Apparently  ha  had 
spoken  with  Dale  Bannister. 

"He's  half  crazy,  o'  course,"  continued  that  gentle- 
man, "  but  as  pleasant-spoken,  'earty  a  young  gent  as  I've 
seen." 

"  Is  he  crazy?"  asked  the  girl  behind  the  bar. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say?  He  came  down  a  day  or  two 
ago,  'e  and  'is  friend,  Mr.  'Ume — " 

"  Hume,"  said  the  mayor,  with  emphasis.  The  mayor, 
while  occasionally  following  the  worse,  saw  the  better  way. 

"  Yes,  'Ume.  Mr.  Bannister  wanted  a  'orse.  '  What's 
your  figger,  sir?'  says  I.  He  took  no  notice,  but  began 
looking  at  me  with  'is  eyes  wide  open,  for  all  the  world  as 
if  I'd  never  spoke.  Then  he  says,  '  I  want  a  'orse,  broad- 
backed  and  fallen  in  the  vale  o'  years. '  Them  was  'is  very 
words." 

"  You  don't  say?"  said  the  girl. 

"  I  never  knowed  what  he  meant,  no  more  than  that 
pint-pot;  but  Mr.  'Ume  laughed  and  says,  '  Don't  be  a 
fool,  Dale/  and  told  me  that  Mr.  Bannister  couldn't  ride 
no  more  than  a  tailor — so  he  said — and  wanted  a  steady, 
quiet  'orse.  He  got  one  from  me — four-and -twenty  years 
old,  warranted  not  to  gallop.  I  see  'im  on  her  to-day — and 
it's  lucky  she  is  quiet." 

"  Can't  he  ride?" 

"  No  more  than  " — a  fresh  simile  failed  Mr.  Maggs,  and 
he  concluded  again — "  that  pint-pot.  But  Mr.  'Ume  can, 
'E's  a  nice  set  on  a  'orse." 

The  mayor  had  been  meditating.  He  was  a  little  jealous 
of  Mr.  Maggs'  superior  intimacy  with  the  distinguished 
stranger,  or  perhaps  it  was  merely  that  he  was  suddenly 
struck  with  a  sense  of  remissness  in  his  official  duties. 

"  I  think,"  he  announced,  "  of  callin'  on  him  and 
welcomin'  him  to  the  town." 

There  was  a  chorus  of  approbation^  broken  only  by  a 
sneer  from  Alderman  Johnstone. 


16  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  Ay,  and  take  'im  a  bottle  of  that  cod-liver  oil  of  yours 
at  two-and -three.     'E  can  afford  it." 

"  Not  after  payin'  your  bill,  Johnstone, "  retorted  the 
mayor,  with  a  triumphant  smile.  A  neat  repartee  maketh 
glad  the  heart  of  the  utterer. 

The  establishment  at  Little-hill  and  the  proper  course  to 
be  pursued  in  regard  to  it  were  also  the  subject  of  considera- 
tion in  circles  more  genteel  than  even  that  which  gathered  at 
the  Delane  Arms,  At  Dirkham  Grange  itself  the  topic 
was  discussed,  and  Mr.  Delane  was  torn  with  doubts 
whether  his  duty  as  landlord  called  upon  him  to  make 
Dale  Bannister's  acquaintance,  or  his  duty  as  custodian- 
general  of  the  laws  and  proprieties  of  life  in  his  corner  of 
the  world  forbid  any  sanction  being  given  to  a  household 
of  which  such  reports  were  on  the  wing.  People  looked  to 
the  squire,  as  he  was  commonly  called,  for  guidance  in 
social  matters,  and  he  was  aware  of  the  responsibility 
under  which  he  lay.  If  he  called  at  Littlehill,  half  the 
county  would  be  likely  enough  to  follow  his  example.  And 
perhaps  it  might  not  be  good  for  half  the  county  to  know 
Dale  Bannister. 

"  I  must  consider  the  matter,"  he  said,  at  breakfast. 

"  Well,  one  does  hear  strange  things/'  remarked  Mrs. 
Delane.     "  And  aren't  his  poems  very  odd,  George?'5 

The  squire  had  not  accorded  to  the  works  referred  to 
a  very  close  study,  but  he  answered  off-hand: 

"  Yes,  I  hear  so;  not  at  all  sound  in  tone.  But  then, 
my  dear,  poets  have  a  standard  of  their  own." 

"  Of  course,  there  was  Byron,"  said  Mrs.  Delane. 

"  And  perhaps  we  mustn't  be  too  hard  on  him,"  pur- 
sued the  squire.  "  He's  a  very  young  man,  and  no  doubt 
has  considerable  ability." 

"  I  dare  say  he  has  never  met  anybody." 

"  I'm  sure,  papa,"  interposed  Miss  Janet  Delane,  ee  that 
it  would  have  a  good  effect  on  him  to  meet  us. " 

Mr.  Delane  smiled  at  his  daughter. 

"  Would  you  like  to  know  him,  Jan?"  he  askedo 

"Of  course  I  should!  He  wouldn't  be  dull,  at  all 
events,  like  most  of  the  men  about  here.  Tora  Smith  said 
the  colonel  meant  to  call." 

"  Colonel  Smith  is  hardly  in  your  father's  position,  my 
dear0" 
w  "  0h>  since  old  Smith  had  his  row  with  the  War  Office 


A    CHAKGE    OF    AIR.  17 

about  that  pension,  he'll  call  on  anybody  who's  for  upset- 
ting everything.  It's  enough  for  him  that  a  man's  a 
Radical." 

"  Tora  means  to  go,  too,"  said  Janet. 

44  Poor  child!  It's  a  pity  she  hasn't  a  mother,"  said 
Mrs.  Delane. 

"  I  think  I  shall  go.  We  can  drop  him  if  he  turns  out 
badly." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,  as  you  think  best." 

"  I'll  walk  over  on  Sunday.  I  don't  suppose  he  objects 
to  Sunday  calls." 

"  Not  on  the  ground  that  he  wants  to  go  to  church,  at 
all  events,"  remarked  Mrs.  Delane. 

"  Perhaps  he  goes  to  chapel,  mamma." 

"  Oh,  no,  my  dear,  he  doesn't  do  that."  Mrs.  Delane 
was  determined  to  be  just. 

"  Well,  he  was  the  son  of  a  Dissenting  minister,  mamma. 
The  Critic  said  so." 

"  I  wonder  what  his  father  thinks  of  him,"  said  the 
squire,  with  a  slight  chuckle,  not  knowing  that  death  had 
spared  Dale's  father  all  chance  of  trouble  on  his  son's 
score. 

"  Mrs.  Roberts  told  me,"  said  Janet,  "  that  her  hus- 
band had  been  to  see  him,  and  liked  him  awfully." 

"  I  think  Roberts  had  better  have  waited,"  the  squire 
remarked,  with  a  little  frown.  "  In  his  position  he  ought 
to  be  very  careful  what  he  does." 

"  Oh,  it  will  be  all  right  if  you  call,  papa." 

"  It  would  have  been  better  if  he  had  let  me  go  first." 

Mr.  Delane  spoke  with  some  severity.  Apart  from  his 
position  of  overlord  of  Denborough,  which,  indeed,  he 
could  not  but  feel  was  precarious  in  these  innovating  days, 
he  thought  he  had  special  claims  to  be  consulted  by  the 
doctor.  He  had  taken  him  up;  his  influence  had  gained 
him  his  appointment  at  Dirkham  and  secured  him  the  ma- 
jority of  his  more  wealthy  clientele ;  his  good  will  had 
opened  to  the  young  unknown  man  the  doors  of  the 
Grange,  and  to  his  wife  the  privilege  of  considerable  in- 
timacy with  the  Grange  ladies.  It  was  certainly  a  little 
hasty  in  the  doctor  not  to  wait  for  a  lead  from  the  Grange, 
before  he  flung  himself  into  Dale  Bannister's  arms. 

All  these  considerations  were  urged  by  Janet  in  her  fa- 


18  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR* 

ther's  defense  when  his  title  to  approve,  disapprove,  or  in 
any  way  concern  himself  with  l3r.  Roberts'  choice  of 
friends  and  associates  was  vigorously  questioned  by  Tora 
Smith.  Colonel  Smith — he  had  been  Colonel  Barrington- 
Smith,  but  he  did  not  see  now  what  a  man  wanted  with 
two  names— was,  since  his  difference  with  the  authorities, 
a  very  strong  Radical;  on  principle  he  approved  of  any- 
thing of  which  his  friends  and  neighbors  were  likely  on 
principle  to  disapprove.  Among  other  such  things,  he 
approved  of  Dale  Bannister's  views  and  works,  and  of  the 
doctor's  indifference  to  Mr.  Delane's  opinion.  And,  just 
as  Janet  was  more  of  a  Tory  than  her  father,  Tora— she 
had  been  unhappily  baptized  in  the  absurd  names  of  Vic- 
toria Regina  in  the  loyal  days  before  the  grievance;  but 
nothing  was  allowed  to  survive  of  them  which  could  pos- 
sibly be  dropped — was  more  Radical  than  her  father,  and 
she  ridiculed  the  squire's  pretensions  with  an  extravagance 
which  Sir  Henry  Fulmer,  who  was  calling  at  the  Smiths' 
when  Janet  came  in,  thought  none  the  less  charming  for 
being  very  unreasonable.  Sir  Harry,  however,  suppressed 
Ins  opinion  on  both  these  points — as  to  its  being  charming, 
because  matters  had  not  yet  reached  the  stage  when  he 
could  declare  it,  and  as  to  its  being  unreasonable,  because 
he  was  by  hereditary  right  the  head  of  the  Liberal  party  in 
the  district,  and  tried  honestly  to  live  up  to  the  position  by 
a  constant  sacrifice  of  his  dearest  prejudices  on  the  altar 
of  progress. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  in  reply  to  an  appeal  from  Tora, 
"  that  a  man  has  a  right  to  please  himself  in  such  things." 

"  After  all  papa  has  done  for  him!  Besides,  Sir  Harry, 
you  know  a  doctor  ought  to  be  particularly  careful." 

"  What  is  there  so  dreadful  about  Mr.  Bannister?" 
asked  Tora.     "  He  looks  very  nice." 

"  Have  you  seen  him,  Tora?"  asked  Janet,  eagerly. 

"  Yes;  we  met  him  riding  on  such  a  queer  old  horse. 
He  looked  as  if  he  was  going  to  tumble  off  every  minute; 
he  can't  ride  a  bit.     But  he's  awfully  handsome." 

"  What's  he  like?" 

"  Oh,  tall,  not  very  broad,  with  beautiful  eyes,  and  a 
lot  of  waving  auburn  hair;  he  doesn't  wear  it  clipped  like 
a  toothbrush.  And  he's  got  a  long  mustache,  and  a 
straight  nose,  and  a  charming  smile.  Hasn't  he,  Sir 
Harry?" 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  19 

"  I  didn't  notice  particularly.  He's  not  a  bad-looking 
chap.     Looks  a  bit  soft,  though." 

"  Soft?  why,  he's  a  tremendous  genius,  papa  says." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that;  I  mean  flabby  and  out  of  training, 
you  know." 

"  Oh,  he  isn't  always  shooting  or  hunting,  of  course," 
said  Tora,  contemptuously. 

"  I  don't  suppose,"  remarked  Janet,  "  that  in  his  posi- 
tion of  life — well,  you  know,  Tora,  he's  of  quite  humble 
birth — he  ever  had  the  chance. " 

"  He's  none  the  worse  for  that,"  said  Sir  Harry,  stoutly. 

"  The  worse?  I  think  he's  the  better.  Papa  is  going 
to  ask  him  here." 

"  You're  quite  enthusiastic,  Tora." 

"  I  love  to  meet  new  people.  One  sees  the  same  faces 
year  after  year  in  Denshire." 

Sir  Harry  felt  that  this  remark  was  a  little  unkind. 

"  I  like  old  friends,"  he  said,  "  better  than  new  ones." 

Janet  rose  to  go. 

"  We  must  wait  and  hear  papa's  report,"  she  said,  as 
she  took  her  leave. 

Tora  Smith  escorted  her  to  the  door,  kissed  her,  and, 
returning,  said,  with  a  snap  of  her  fingers: 

"I  don't  care  that  for  '  papa's  report.'  Jan  is  really 
too  absurd." 

"It's  nice  to  see  her — " 

"  Oh,  delightful.     I  hate  dutiful  people!" 

"  You  think  just  as  much  of  your  father." 

"We  happen  to  agree  in  our  opinions,  but  papa  always 
tells  me  to  use  my  own  judgment.  Are  you  going  to  see 
Mr.  Bannister?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  He  won't  hurt  me,  and  he  may 
subscribe  to  the  hunt." 

"No;  he  may  even  improve  you." 

"  Do  I  want  it  so  badly,  Miss  Smith?" 

"  Yes.     You're  a  weak-kneed  man." 

"  Oh,  1  say!     Look  here,  you  must  help  me." 

"  Perhaps  I  will,  if  Mr.  Bannister  is  not  too  engrossing. " 

"  Now  you're  trying  to  draw  me." 

"  Was  I?  And  yet  you  looked  pleased.  Perhaps  you 
think  it  a  compliment." 

"  Isn't  it  one?    It  shows  you  think  it  worth  while  to — " 

"  It  shows  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Tora,  decisively. 


20  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

Thus,  for  one  reason  or  another,  from  one  direction  and 
another,  there  was  converging  on  Littlehill  a  number  of 
visitors.  If  your  neighbor  excites  curiosity,  it  is  a  dull 
imagination  that  finds  no  23lausible  reason  for  satisfying  it. 
Probably  there  was  more  in  common  than  at  first  sight 
appeared  between  Mr.  Delane's  sense  of  duty,  the  mayor's 
idea  of  official  courtesy,  Colonel  Smith's  contempt  for  nar- 
rowness of  mind,  Sir  Harry  Fulmer's  care  for  the  interests 
of  the  hunt,  and  Dr.  Roberts'  frank  and  undisguised 
eagerness  to  see  and  speak  with  Dale  Bannister  face  to  face. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  QUIET  SUNDAY  AFTERNOON. 

To  dissolve  public  report  into  its  component  parts  is 
never  a  light  task.  Analysis,  as  a  rule,  reveals  three  con- 
stituents: truth,  embroidery,  and  mere  falsehood;  but  the 
proportions  vary  infinitely.  Denborough,  which  went  to 
bed,  to  a  man,  at  ten  o'clock,  or  so  soon  after  as  it  reached 
home  from  the  public-house,  said  that  the  people  at  Little- 
hill  sat  up  very  late;  this  was  truth,  at  least  relative  truth, 
and  that  is  all  we  can  expect  here.  It  said  that  they  habit- 
ually danced  and  sung  the  night  through;  this  was  em- 
broidery; they  had  once  danced  and  sung  the  night 
through,  when  Dale  had  a  party  from  London.  It  said 
that  orgies — if  the  meaning  of  its  nods,  winks,  and  smiles 
may  be  summarized — went  on  at  Littlehill;  this  was  false- 
hood. Dale  and  his  friends  amused  themselves,  and  it 
must  be  allowed  that  their  enjoyment  was  not  marred,  but 
rather  increased,  by  the  knowledge  that  they  did  not  com- 
mand the  respect  of  Denborough.  They  had  no  friends 
there.  Why  should  they  care  for  Denborough' s  approval? 
Denborough' s  approval  was  naught,  whereas  Denborough's 
disapproval  ministered  to  the  pleasure  most  of  us  feel  in 
giving  gentle  shocks  to  our  neighbors'  sense  of  propriety. 
No  doubt  an  electric  eel  enjoys  itself.  But,  after  all,  if 
the  mere  truth  must  be  told,  they  were  mild  sinners  at 
Littlehill,  the  leading  spirits,  Dale  and  Arthur  Angell,  be- 
ing indeed  young  men  whose  antinomianism  found  a  harm- 
less issue  in  ink,  and  whose  lawlessness  was  best  expressed 
in  meter.  A  cynic  once  married  his  daughter  to  a  professed 
atheist,  on  the  ground  that  the  man  could  not. afford  to  be 


A    CflAKGE    OF   AIR.  21 

other  than  an  exemplary  husband  and  father.  Poets  are 
not  trammeled  so  tight  as  that,  for,  as  Mrs.  Delane  re- 
marked, there  was  Byron,  and  perhaps  one  or  two  more; 
yet,  for  the  most  part,  she  who  marries  a  poet  has  nothing 
worse  than  nerves  to  fear.  But  a  little  lawlessness  will  go 
a  long  way  in  the  right  place — for  example,  lawn-tennis  on 
Sunday  in  the  suburbs — and  the  Littlehill  partly  extorted 
a  gratifying  meed  of  curiosity  and  frowns,  which  were  not 
entirely  underserved  by  some  of  their  doings,  and  were 
more  than  deserved  by  what  was  told  of  their  doings. 

After  luncheon  on  Sunday  Mr.  Delane  had  a  nap,  as  his 
commendable  custom  was.  Then  he  took  his  hat  and 
stick  and  set  out  for  Littlehill.  The  Grange  park  stretches 
to  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and  .borders  in  part  on  the 
grounds  of  Littlehill,  so  that  the  squire  had  a  pleasant 
walk  under  the  cool  shade  of  his  own  immemorial  elms, 
and  enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  inspecting  his  own  most 
excellent  shorthorns.  Reflecting  on  the  elms  and  the 
shorthorns,  and  on  the  house,  the  acres,  and  the  family 
that  were  his,  he  admitted  that  he  had  been  born  to  ad- 
vantages and  opportunities  such  as  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  few 
men;  and,  inspired  to  charity  by  the  distant  church -bell 
sounding  over  the  meadows,  he  acknowledged  a  corre- 
sponding duty  of  lenient  judgment  in  respect  of  the  less 
fortunate.  Thus  he  arrived  at  Littlehill  in  a  tolerant 
temper,  and  contented  himself  with  an  indulgent  shake  of 
the  head  when  he  saw  the  gravel  fresh  marked  with  horses' 
hoofs. 

"  Been  riding  instead  of  going  to  church,  the  young  ras- 
cals," he  said  to  himself,  as  he  rang  the  bell. 

A  small,  shrewd-faced  man  opened  the  door  and  ushered 
Mr.  Delane  into  the  hall.     Then  he  stopped. 

"If  you  go  straight  on,  sir,"  said  he,  "  through  that 
baize  door,  and  across  the  passage,  and  through  the  oppo- 
site door,  you  will  find  Mr.  Bannister." 

Mr.  Delane' s  face  expressed  surprise. 

"Mr.  Bannister,  sir,"  the  man  explained,  "don't  like 
visitors  being  announced,  sir.  If  you  would  be  so  kind  as 
to  walk  in — " 

It  was  a  harmless  whim,  and  the  squire  nodded  assent. 
He  passed  through  the  baize  door,  crossed  the  passage,  and 
paused  before  opening  the  opposite  door.  The  sounds 
which  came  from  behind  it  arrested  his  attention.     To  the 


22  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

accompaniment  of  a  gentle  drumming  noise,  as  if  of  sticks 
or  umbrellas  bumped  against  the  floor,  a  voice  was  de- 
claiming, or  rather  .chanting,  poetry.  The  voice  rose  and 
fell,  and  Mr.  Delane  could  not  distinguish  the  words,  until 
it  burst  forth  triumphantly  with  the  lines: 

"  Love  grows  hate  for  love's  sake,  life  takes  death  for  guide; 
Night  hath  but  one  red  star— Tyrannicide. " 

"  Good  gracious!"  said  Mr.  Delane. 
The  voice  dropped  again  for  a  few  moments,  then  it 
hurled  out: 

"  Down  the  way  of  Czars  awhile  in  vain  deferred, 
Bid  the  Second  Alexander  light  the  Third. 
How  for  shame  shall  men  rebuke  them?  how  may  we 
Blame,  whose  fathers  died  and  slew,  to  leave  us  free?" 

The  voice  was  interrupted  and  drowned  by  the  crash  of 
the  pianoforte,  struck  with  remorseless  force,  and  another 
voice,  the  voice  of  a  woman,  cried,  rising  even  above  the 
crash : 

"  Now,  one  of  your  own,  Dale." 

66 1  think  I'd  better  go  in,"  thought  Mr.  Delane,  and  he 
knocked  loudly  at  the  door. 

He  was  bidden  to  enter  by  the  former  of  the  two  voices, 
and,  going  in,  found  himself  in  a  billiard-room.  Five  or 
six  people  sat  round  the  wall  on  settees,  each  holding  a 
cue,  with  which  they  were  still  gently  strumming  on  the 
floor.  A  stout,  elderly  woman  at  the  piano,  and  a  young 
man  sat  cross-legged  in  the  middle  of  the  billiard-table, 
with  a  book  in  one  hand  and  a  cigar  in  the  other.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  tobacco  smoke  in  the  room,  and  Mr. 
Delane  did  not  at  first  distinguish  the  faces  of  the  company. 

The  young  man  on  the  table  uncoiled  himself  with 
great  agility,  jumped  down,  and  came  forward  to  meet  the 
new-comer  with  outstretched  hands.  As  he  outstretched 
them,  he  dropped  the  book  and  the  cigar  to  the  ground  on 
either  side  of  him. 

"  Ah,  here  you  are!  Delightful  of  you  to  come!"  he 
cried.     "  Now,  let  me  guess  you!" 

"  Mr.  Bannister?     Have  I  the  pleasure?" 

"  Yes,  yes.     Now  let's  see — don't  tell  me  your  name 

He  drew  back  a  step,  surveyed  Mr.  Delane 's  portly  fig- 
ure, his  dignified  carnage,  his  plain  solid  watch-chain,  his 
square-toed  strong  boots. 


ft 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIK.  23 

"  The  squire!"  he  exclaimed.     "  Mr.  Delane,  isn't  it?" 

"lam  Mr.  Delane." 

"  Good!  You  don't  mind  being  guessed,  do  you?  It's 
so  much  more  amusing.     What  will  you  have?" 

"  Thank  you,  I've  lunched,  Mr.  Bannister." 

"  Have  you?  We've  just  breakfasted — had  a  ride  be- 
fore, you  know.     But  I  must  introduce  you." 

He  searched  the  floor,  picked  up  the  cigar,  looked  at  it 
regretfully,  and  threw  it  out  of  an  open  window. 

"  This,"  he  resumed,  waving  his  hand  toward  the  piano, 
"  is  Mrs.  Ernest  Hodge.  This  is  Miss  Fane,  Mrs.  Hodge's 
daughter — no,  not  by  a  first  marriage;  everybody  suggests 
that.  Professional  name,  you  know— she  sings.  Hodge 
really  wouldn't  do,  would  it,  Mrs.  Hodge?  This  is  Philip 
Hume.  This  is  Arthur  Angell,  who  writes  verses— like 
me.     This  is— but  I  expect  you  know  these  gentlemen?'' 

Mr.  Delane  peered  through  the  smoke  which  Philip 
Hume  was  producing  from  a  long  pipe,  and  to  his  amaze- 
ment discerned  three  familiar  faces:  those  of  Dr.  Roberts, 
the  mayor,  and  Alderman  Johnstone.  The  doctor  was 
flushed  and  looked  excited;  the  mayor  was  a  picture  of  dig- 
nified complacency;  Johnstone  appeared  embarrassed  and 
uncomfortable,  for  his  bald  head  was  embellished  with  a 
flowery  garland.  Dale  saw  Mr.  Delane' s  eyes  rest  on  this 
article. 

"  We  always  crown  anybody  who  adds  to  our  knowl- 
edge," he  explained.  "  He  gets  a  wreath  of  honor.  The 
alderman  added  to  our  knowledge  of  the  expense  of  build- 
ing a  room.     So  Miss  Fane  crowned  him. " 

An  appreciative  chuckle  from  the  mayor  followed  this 
explanation;  he  knocked  the  butt  of  his  cue  against  the 
floor,  and  winked  at  Philip  Hume. 

The  last-named,  seeing  that  Mr.  Delane  was  somewhat 
surprised  at  the  company,  came  up  to  him  and  said: 

"  Come  and  sit  down;  Dale  never  remembers  that  any- 
body wants  a  seat.     Here's  an  arm-chair." 

Mr.  Delane  sat  down  next  to  Miss  Fane,  and  noticed, 
even  in  his  perturbation,  that  his  neighbor  was  a  remark- 
ably pretty  girl,  with  fair  hair  clustering  in  a  thick  mass 
on  the  nape  of  her  neck,  and  large  blue  eyes  which  left 
gazing  on  Dale  Bannister  when  their  owner  turned  to  greet 
him.  Mr.  Delane  would  have  enjoyed  talking  to  her,  had 
not  his  soul  been  vexed  at  the  presence  of  the  three  Den- 


24  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

borough  men.  One  did  not  expect  to  meet  the  tradesmen 
of  the  town;  and  what  business  had  the  doctor  there?  To 
spend  Sunday  in  that  fashion  would  not  increase  his  popu- 
larity or  his  practice.  And  then  that  nonsense  about  the 
wreath!  How  undignified  it  was!  it  was  even  worse  than 
yelling  out  Nihilistic  verses  by  way  of  Sabbath  amusement. 

"  I  shall  get  away  as  soon  as  I  can/'  he  thought,  "  and 
I  shall  say  a  word  to  the  doctor." 

He  was  called  from  his  meditations  by  Miss  Fane.  She 
sat  in  a  low  chair  with  her  feet  on  a  stool,  and  now,  tilting 
the  chair  back,  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  Mr.  Delane,  and  asked: 

"  Are  you  shocked?" 

No  man  likes  to  admit  that  he  is  shocked. 

"lam  not,  but  many  people  would  be." 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  like  meeting  those  men?" 

"  Hedger  is  an  honest  man  in  his  way  of  life.  I  have  no 
great  opinion  of  Johnstone." 

"  This  is  your  house,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"  All  the  houses  about  here  are  yours,  aren't  they?" 

"  Most  of  them  are,  Miss  Fane." 

"  Then  you  are  a  great  man?" 

The  question  was  put  so  simply  that  Mr.  Delane  could 
not  suspect  a  sarcastic  intent. 

"  Only  locally,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

"  Have  you  any  daughter?"  she  asked. 

"Yes;  one." 

"  What  is  she  like?" 

"  Fancy  asking  her  father!    I  think  Janet  a  beauty." 

"  Fair  or  dark?" 

"Dark." 

"  Dale  likes  dark  girls.     Tall  or  short?" 

"Tall." 

"  Good  eyes?" 

"I  like  them." 

"  Oh,  that'll  do.  Dale  will  like  her;"  and  Miss  Fane 
nodded  reassuringly.  Mr.  Delane  had  not  the  heart  to  in- 
timate his  indifference  to  Dale  Bannister's  opinion  of  his 
daughter. 

"  Do  you  know  this  country?"  he  asked,  by  way  of  con- 
versation. 

"  We've  only  been  here  a  week,  but  we've  ridden  a 
good  deal.     We  hold  Dale  on,  you  know." 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  25 

"  You  are  on  a  visit  to  Mr.  Bannister  ?" 
"  Oh,  yes,  mother  and  I  are  here." 

Mr.   Delane  could  not  help  wondering  whether  their 
presence  was  such  a  matter  of  course  as  her  tone  implied 
but  before  he  could  probe  the  matter  further,  he  heard 
Dale  exclaim: 

«  Oh,  it's  a  wretched  thing!  Read  it  yourself,  Roberts." 
Mount  him  on  the  rostrum,"  cried  the  young  man 
who  had  been  presented  to  Mr.  Delane  as  Arthur  Angell, 
and  who  had  hitherto  been  engaged  in  an  animated  discus- 
sion with  the  doctor. 

Laughing  and  only  half  resisting,  the  doctor  allowing 
himself  to  be  hoisted  on  to  the  billiard-table,  sat  down! 
and  announced  in  a  loud  voice: 

"  '  Blood  for  Blood;'  by  Dale  Bannister." 

The  poem  which  bore  this  alarming  title  was  perhaps 
the  most  outrageous  of  the  author's  works.  It  held  up  to 
ridicule  and  devoted  to  damnation  every  person  and  every 
institution  which  the  squire  respected  and  worshiped.  And 
the  misguided  young  man  declaimed  it  with  sparkling  eyes 
and  emphasizing  gestures,  as  though  every  wicked  word 
or  it  were  gospel.  And  to  this  man's  charge  were  com- 
mitted the  wives  and  families  of  the  citizens  of  Denbor- 
ough!  ^  The  squire's  self-respect  demanded  a  protest.  He 
rose  with  dignity,  and  went  up  to  his  host. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr,  Bannister." 

"  What?  you're  not  going  yet?  What?  Does  this  stuff 
bore  you?" 

„  ".**  d?e?  not  bore  me.  But  I  must  add— excuse  an  old- 
tashioned  fellow— that  it  does  something  worse." 

"What?  Oh,  you're  on  the  other  side?  Of  course  vou 
are!"  J 

"Whatever  side  I  was,  I  could  not  listen  to  that.     As 
an  older  man,  let  me  give  you  a  word  of  advice." 
Dale  lifted  his  hands  in  good-humored  protest. 

™  T??°1rry  you  don?t  like  lt>"  he  said-  "  Shut  up,  Roberts! 
if  1  d  known,  we  wouldn't  have  had  it.  But  it's  true- 
true — true." 

The  doctor  listened,  with  sparkling  eyes. 
I  must  differ  utterly;  I  must  indeed.     Good-bye,  Mr. 
Bannister.     Hedger?"  J 

The  mayor  started. 

"  I  am  walking  into  the  town.     Come  with  me." 


26  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

The  mayor  wavered.  The  squire  stood  and  waited  for 
him. 

"  I  didn't  think  of  goin'  yet,  Mr.  Delane,  sir." 

Dale  watched  the  encounter  with  a  smile. 

"  Your  wife  will  expect  you/'  said  the  squire.  "  Come 
along." 

The  mayor  rose,  ignoring  Johnstone's  grin  and  the 
amusement  on  the  faces  of  the  company. 

"  I'll  come  and  look  you  up,"  said  Dale,  pressing  the 
squire's  hand  warmly.  "  Oh,  it's  all  right.  Tastes  differ. 
I'm  not  offended.     I'll  come  some  day  this  week." 

He  showed  them  out,  and,  returning,  said  to  the  doctor, 
"  Roberts,  you'll  get  into  trouble." 

"  Nonsense!"  said  the  doctor.  "  What  business  is  it  of 
his?" 

Dale  had  turned  to  Johnstone. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  he,  abruptly.     "  We  close  at  five." 

"  I've  'ad  a  pleasant  afternoon,  sir." 

"  It  will  be  deducted  from  your  bill,"  answered  Dale. 

After  ejecting  Johnstone,  he  stood  by  the  table,  looking 
moodily  at  the  floor. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Dale?"  asked  Miss  Fane. 

"  I  suppose  he  thought  we  were  beasts  or  lunatics." 

"  Probably,"  said  Philip  Hume.     "  What  then?" 

"  Well,  yes,"  answered  Dale,  smiling  again.  "  You're 
quite  right,  Phil.     What  then?" 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  NECESSARY  SCAPEGOAT. 

If  men  never  told  their  wives  anything,  the  condition  of 
society  would  no  doubt  be  profoundly  modified,  though  it 
is  not  easy  to  forecast  the  precise  changes.  If  a  guess  may 
be  hazarded,  it  is  probable  that  much  less  good  would  be 
done,  and  some  less  evil  said:  the  loss  of  matter  of  inter- 
est for  half  the  world  may  be  allowed  to  sway  the  balance 
in  favor  of  the  present  practice — a  practice  so  universal 
that  Mr.  Delane,  the  mayor,  and  Alderman  Johnstone,  one 
and  all,  followed  it  by  telling  their  wives  about  their  Sun- 
day afternoon  at  Littlehill.  Dr.  Roberts,  it  is  true,  gave 
a  meager  account  to  his  wife,  but  the  narratives  of  the 
other  three  amply  filled  the  gaps  he  left,  and  as  each  of 
them  naturally  dwelt  on  the  most  remarkable  features  of 


A    CHANGE    OF   AIR.  27 

their  entertainment,  it  may  be  supposed  that  the  general 
impression  produced  in  Market  Denborough  did  not  fall 
short  of  the  truth  in  vividness  of  color.  The  facts  as  to 
what  occurred  have  been  set  down  without  extenuation  and 
without  malice:  the  province  of  Market  Denborough  society 
was  to  supply  the  inferences  arising  therefrom,  and  this 
task  it  fulfilled  with  no  grudging  hand.  Before  eight-and- 
forty  hours  had  passed,  there  were  reports  that  the  squire 
had  discovered  a  full-blown  saturnalia  in  process  at  Little- 
hill— and  that  in  these  scandalous  proceedings  the  mayor, 
Alderman  Johnstone,  and  Dr.  Eoberts  were  participators. 

Then  ensued  conduct  on  the  part  of  the  mayor  and  the 
alderman  deserving  of  unmeasured  scorn.  They  could  not 
deny  that  dreadful  things  had  been  done  and  said,  though 
they  had  not  seen  the  deeds  nor  understood  the  words: 
their  denial  would  have  had  no  chance  of  credit.  They 
could  not  venture  to  say  that  Squire  Delane  had  done  any- 
thing except  manfully  protest.  They  began  by  accusing 
one  another  in  round  terms,  but  each  found  himself  so 
vulnerable  that  by  an  unholy  tacit  compact  they  agreed  to 
exonerate  one  another.  The  mayor  allowed  that  John- 
stone was  not  conspicuous  in  wickedness;  Johnstone  ad- 
mitted that  the  mayor  had  erred,  if  at  all,  only  through 
weakness  and  good-nature.  Public  opinion  demanded  a 
sacrifice,  and  the  doctor  was  left  to  satisfy  it.  Everybody 
was  of  one  mind  in  holding  that  Dr.  Roberts  had  disgraced 
himself,  and  nobody  was  surprised  to  hear  that  the  squire's 
phaeton  had  been  seen  standing  at  his  door  for  half  an  hour 
on  Wednesday  morning.  The  squire  was  within,  and  was 
understood  to  be  giving  the  doctor  a  piece  of  his  mind. 

The  doctor  was  stiff-necked. 

"  It  is  entirely  a  private  matter/'  said  he,  "  and  no  one 
has  a  right  to  dictate  to  me." 

"  My  clear  Roberts,  I  spoke  merely  in  your  own  interest. 
It  would  ruin  you  if  it  became  known  that  you  held  those 
atrocious  opinions;  and  become  known  it  must,  if  you 
openly  ally  yourself  with  this  young  man." 

<{Iam  not  the  servant  of  the  people  I  attend.  I  may 
choose  my  own  opinions." 

"  Yes,  and  they  may  choose  their  own  doctor/'1  retorted 
the  squire. 

The  two  parted,  almost  quarreling.  Perhaps  they  would 
have  quite  quarreled  had  not  the  squire  thought  of  Mrs. 


28  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

Roberts  and  the  baby.  He  wondered  that  the  doctor  did 
not  think  of  them,  too,  but  he  seemed  to  Mr.  Delane  to  be 
under  such  a  spell  that  he  thought  of  nothing  but  Dale 
Bannister.  It  was  not  as  if  Roberts  were  the  only  medical 
man  in  the  place.  There  was  young  Dr.  Spink — and  he 
was  a  real  M.D. — up  the  street,  ready  and  eager  to  snap 
up  stray  patients.  And  Dr.  Spink  was  a  churchwarden. 
The  squire  did  not  like  him  overmuch,  but  he  found  him- 
self thinking  whether  it  would  not  be  well  to  send  for  him 
next  time  there  was  a  case  of  illness  at  the  Grange. 

The  squire  meditated  while  others  acted.  On  her  walk 
the  same  afternoon,  Ethel  Roberts  heard  news  which  per- 
turbed her.  The  vicar's  wife  was  ill  and  Dr.  Spink  had 
been  sent  for.  The  vicar  was  a  well-to-do  man.  He  had 
a  large  family,  which  yet  grew.  '  He  had  been  a  constant 
and  a  valuable  client  of  her  husband's.  And  now  Dr. 
Spink  was  sent  for. 

"  Jim/'  she  said,  "  did  you  know  that  Mrs.  Gilkison 
was  ill?" 

"  111?"  said  the  doctor,  looking  up  from  "  Sluggards." 
"  No,  I've  heard  nothing  of  it." 
She  came  and  leaned  over  his  chair. 
"  They've  sent  for  Doctor  Spink,"  she  said. 
"  What?"  he  exclaimed,  dropping  his  beloved  volume. 
"  Mrs.  Hedger  told  me." 

"  Well,  they  can  do  as  they  like.  I  suppose  his  '  doc- 
tor' is  the  attraction. " 

"  Do  you  think  it's  that,  dear?" 

"  What  else  can  it  be?~unless  it's  a  mere  freak." 

"  Well,  Jim,  I  thought — I  thought  perhaps  that  the 
vicar  had  heard  about — about — Littlehill.  Yes,  I  know 
it's  very  stupid  and  narrow,  dear — but  still — " 

The  doctor  swore  under  his  breath. 

"  I  can't  help  it  if  the  man's  an  ass,"  he  said. 

Ethel  smiled  patiently. 

' '  It's  a  pity  to  offend  people,  Jim,  dear,  isn't  it?" 

"  Are  you  against  me  too,  Ethel?" 

"  Against  you?    You  know  I  never  would  be,  but — " 

"  Then  do  let  us  leave  Denborough  gossip  alone.  Fancy 
Denborough  taking  on  itself  to  disapprove  of  Dale  Ban- 
nister!    It's  too  rich!" 

Ethel  sighed.     Denborough' s  disapproval  was  no  doubt 


A    CHANGE    OF   AIR.  29 

a  matter  of  indifference  to  Dale  Bannister:  it  meant  loss  of 
bread  and  butter  to  James  Eoberts  and  his  house. 

Meanwhile,  Dale  Bannister,  all  unconscious  of  the  dread 
determinations  of  the  vicar,  pursued  his  way  in  cheerful 
unconcern.  People  came  and  went.  Arthur  Angell  re- 
turned to  his  haunts  rather  dissatisfied  with  the  quiet  of 
Littlehill,  but  rejoicing  to  have  found  in  the  doctor  one 
thorough-going  believer.  Hrs.  Hodge,  her  daughter,  and 
Philip  Hume  seemed  to  be  permanent  parts  of  the  house- 
hold. Riding  was  their  chief  amusement.  They  would 
pass  down  High  Street,  Dale  on  his  ancient  mare,  with 
Nellie  and  Philip  by  his  side,  laughing  and  talking  merrily, 
Dale's  own  voice  being  very  audible  as  he  pointed  out,  with 
amusement  a  trifle  too  obvious  to  be  polite,  what  struck 
him  as  remarkable  in  Denborough  ways  of  life. 

Philip,  however,  whom  Mr.  Delane  had  described  to  his 
wife  as  the  only  apparently  sane  person  at  Littlehill,  was 
rather  uneasy  in  his  mind  about  Roberts. 

"  You'll  get  that  fellow  disliked,  Dale,"  he  said  one 
morning,  "  if  you  don't  take  care." 

"  I?    What  have  I  to  do  with  it?"  asked  Dale. 

"  They'll  think  him  unsafe,  if  they  see  him  with  you." 

"  He  needn't  come  unless  he  likes.  He's  not  a  bad  fel- 
low, only  he  takes  everything  so  precious  seriously." 

"  He  thinks  you  do,  judging  by  your  books." 

"  Oh,  I  do  by  fits.  By  the  way,  I  have  a  fit  now!  Be- 
hold, I  will  write!     Nellie!     Where's  Nellie?" 

Nellie  Fane  came  at  his  call. 

"  Sit  down  just  opposite  me,  and  look  at  me.  I  am  go- 
ing to  write.  The  editor  of  the  Cynosure  begs  for  twenty 
lines — no  more;  twenty  lines — fifty  pounds!  Now,  Nellie, 
inspire  me,  and  you  shall  have  a  new  hat  out  of  it.  No, 
look  at  me!" 

Nellie  sat  down  and  gazed  at  him  obediently. 

"  Two  pound  ten  a  line;  not  bad  for  a  young  ?un,"  he 
pursued.  "  They  say  Byron  wrote  on  gin  and  water.  I 
write  on  your  eyes,  Nellie — much  better." 

"  You're  hot  writing  at  all — only  talking  nonsense." 

"  I'm  just  beginning." 

"  Look  here,  Dale,  why  don't  you  keep  the  doctor — " 
began  Philip. 

"  Oh,  hang  the  doctor!  I'd  just  got  an  idea.  Look  at 
me,  Nellie!" 


30  A    CHANGE    OF    AIK. 

Philip  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  Dr.  Roberts  dropped 
out  of  the  discussion. 

The  twenty  lines  were  written,  though  they  were  never 
considered  one  of  his  masterpieces,  then  Dale  rose  with  a 
sigh  of  relief. 

"  Now  for  lunch,  and  then  I'm  going  to  return  Mr.  De- 
lane's  call." 

"  I  thought  we  were  to  ride,"  said  Nellie,  disappointedly. 

"  Well,  won't  you  come?" 

"Don't  be  absurd!" 

"  Mightn't  she  come,  Phil?" 

ic  Mrs.  Delane  has  not  called,  has  she?"  inquired  Philip, 
as  though  for  information. 

"  Of  course  I  sha'n't  go,  Dale.     You  must  go  alone." 

"What  a  nuisance!  I  shall  have  to  walk.  I  daren't 
trust  myself  to  that  animal  alone." 

After  luncheon  he  started,  walking  by  the  same  way  by 
which  Mr.  Delane  had  come. 

He  reached  the  lodge  of  the  Grange;  a  courtesying  child 
held  open  the  gate,  and  he  passed  along  under  the  immem- 
orial elms,  returning  a  cheery  good-day  to  the  gardeners, 
who  paused  in  their  work  to  touch  their  hats  with  friendly 
deference.  The  deference  was  wrong,  of  course,  but  the 
friendliness  pleased  him,  and  even  the  deference  seemed 
somehow  in  keeping  with  the  elms  and  with  the  sturdy  old 
red-brick  mansion,  with  its  coat  of  arms  and  defiant  Nor- 
man motto  over  the  principal  door.  Littlehill  was  a  pleas- 
ant house,  but  it  had  none  of  the  ancient  dignity  of  Dirk- 
ham,  and  Dale's  quick  brain  was  suddenly  struck  with  a 
new  understanding  of  how  such  places  bred  the  men  they 
did.  He  had  had  a  fancy  for  a  stay  in  the  country;  it 
would  amuse  him,  he  thought,  to  study  country  life;  that 
was  the  meaning  of  his  coming  to  Littlehill.  Well,  Dirk- 
ham  summed  up  one  side  of  country  life,  and  he  would  be 
glad  to  study  it. 

Mr.  Delane  was  not  at  home — he  had  gone  to  Petty 
Sessions;  and  Dale,  with  regret,  for  he  wanted  to  see  the 
inside  of  the  house,  left  his  name— as  usual  he  had  for- 
gotten to  bring  a  card — and  turned  away.  As  he  turned, 
a  pony  carriage  drew  up  and  a  girl  jumped  out.  Dale 
drew  back  to  let  her  pass,  raising  his  hat.  The  servant 
said  a  word  to  her,  and  when  he  had  gone  some  ten  or  fif- 
teen yards,  he  heard  his  name  called. 


A    CHANGE    OP    AIR.  31 

te  Oh,  Mr.  Bannister,  do  come  in!  I  expect  papa  back 
every  minute,  and  he  will  be  so  sorry  to  miss  you.  Mam- 
ma is  up  in  London;  but  1  hope  you'll  come  in." 

Dale  had  no  idea  of  refusing  the  invitation  given  so  cor- 
dially. He  had  been  sorry  to  go  away  before,  and  the 
sight  of  Janet  Delane  made  him  more  reluctant  still.  He 
followed  her  into  the  oak-paneled  hall,  hung  with  pictures 
of  dead  Delanes  and  furnished  with  couches  and  easy- chairs. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  after  tea  was  brought,  "  and  what  do 
you  think  of  us?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  very  much  of  you  yet." 

"  As  far  as  you  have  gone?    And  be  candid." 

"  You  are  very  restful." 

She  made  a  little  grimace. 

"  You  mean  very  slow?" 

"  Indeed  I  don't!    I  think  you  very  interesting." 

"  You  find  us  interesting,  but  slow.  Yes,  you  meant 
that,  Mr.  Bannister,  and  it's  not  kind." 

"  Have  your  revenge  by  telling  me  what  you  think  of 
me." 

"  Oh,  we  find  you  interesting,  too.  We're  all  talking 
about  you." 

"  And  slow?" 

"  No,  certainly  not  slow,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  and  a 
glance;  the  glance  should  be  described,  if  it  were  describa- 
ble,  but  it  was  not. 

Dale,  however,  understood  it,  for  he  replied,  laughing: 

"  They've  been  prejudicing  you  against  me." 

"  I  don't  despair  of  you.  I  think  you  may  be  reformed. 
But  I'm  afraid  you're  very  bad  just  now." 

"  Why  do  you  think  that?  From  what  your  father 
said?" 

"  Partly.  Partly  also  because  Colonel  Smith  and  Tora 
— do  you  know  them? — are  so  enthusiastic  about  you." 

"  Is  that  a  bad  sign?" 

"  Terrible.  They  are  quite  revolutionary.  So  are  you, 
aren't  you?" 

"  Not  in  private  life." 

"  But  of  course,"  she  asked,  with  serious  eyes,  "  you  be- 
lieve what  you  write?" 

"  Well,  I  do;  but  you  pay  writers  a  compliment  by  say- 
ing '  of  course/  " 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not!    Anything  is  better  than  insincerity." 


32  A    CHANGE    OP    AIR. 

"  Even  my  opinions  ?" 

"  Yes.  Opinions  may  be  changed,  but  not  natures,  you 
know." 

She  was  still  looking  at  him  with  serious,  inquiring  eyes. 
The  eyes  were  very  fine  eyes.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason 
why  Dale  thought  the  last  remark  so  excellent.  He  said 
nothing,  and  she  went  on: 

"  People  who  are  clever  and — and  great,  you  know, 
ought  to  be  so  careful  that  they  are  right,  oughtn't  they?" 

•"  Oh,  a  rhymer  rhymes  as  the  fit  takes  him,"  answered 
he,  with  affected  moclest3r. 

"  I  wouldn't  believe  that  of  you.  You  wouldn't  misuse 
your  powers  like  that." 

"  You  have  read  my  poetry?" 

"Some  of  it."  She  paused  and  added,  with  a  little 
blush  for  her  companion:  "  There  was  some  papa  would 
not  let  me  read." 

A  man  may  not  unreasonably  write  what  a  young  girl's 
father  may  very  reasonably  not  like  her  to  read.  Never- 
theless, Dale  Bannister  felt  rather  uncomfortable. 

"  Those  were  the  shocking  political  ones,  I  suppose?" 
he  asked. 

"  No;  I  read  most  of  those.  These  were  against  religion 
and—" 

"  Well?" 

"  Morality,  papa  said,"  she  answered,  with  the  same 
grave  look  of  inquiry. 

Dale  rose  and  held  out  his  hand,  saying,  petulantly: 

66  Good-bye,  Miss  Delane.  You  evidently  don't  think 
me  fit  to  enter  your  house." 

"  Oh,  now  I  have  made  you  angry.  I  had  no  right  to 
speak  about  it,  and,  of  course,  I  know  nothing  about  it. 
Only—" 

"  Only  what?" 

"  Some  things  are  right  and  some  are  wrong,  aren't 
they?" 

"  Oh,  granted — if  we  could  only  agree  which  were 
which." 

"As  to  some  we  have  been  told.  And  I  don't  think 
that  about  you  at  all — I  really  don't.  Do  wait  till  papa 
comes." 

Dale  sat  down  again.  He  had  had  his  lecture;  experi- 
ence told  him  that  a  lecture  from  such  lecturers  is  tolera- 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIK.  33 

bly  often  followed  by  a  petting,  and  the  pettings  were 
worth  the  lectures.  In  this  instance  he  was  disappointed. 
Janet  did  not  pet  him,  though  she  displayed  much  friend- 
liness, and  he  took  his  leave  (for  the  squire  did  not  appear) 
feeling  somewhat  put  out. 

Approbation  and  applause  were  dear  to  this  man,  who 
seemed  to  spend  his  energies  in  courting  blame  and  dis- 
trust; whatever  people  thought  of  his  writings,  he  wished 
them  to  be  fascinated  by  him.  He  was  not  sure  that  he 
had  fascinated  Miss  Delane. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  more  of  her,"  he  thought.  "  She's 
rather  an  odd  girl." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LITTLEHILL  GOES  INTO  SOCIETY. 

Me.  Delane's  late  return  from  his  public  duties  was 
attributable  simply  to  Colonel  Smith's  obstinacy.  He 
and  the  colonel  sat  together  on  the  bench,  and  very  griev- 
ously did  they  quarrel  over  the  case  of  a  man  who  had 
been  caught  in  the  possession  of  the  body  of  a  fresh-killed 
hare.  They  differed  first  as  to  the  policy  of  the  law,  sec- 
ondly as  to  its  application,  thirdly  as  to  its  vindication; 
and  when  the  Vicar  of  Denborough,  who  was  a  county 
justice  and  present  with  them,  sided  with  the  squire  on 
all  these  points,  the  colonel  angrily  denounced  the  rev- 
erend gentleman  as  a  disgrace,  not  only  to  the  judicial 
bench,  but  even  to  his  own  cloth.  All  this  took  time,  as 
did  also  the  colonel's  cross-examination  of  the  constable  in 
charge  of  the  case,  and  it  was  evening  before  the  dispute 
was  ended  and  a  fine  imposed.  The  colonel  paid  the  fine, 
and  thus  every  one,  including  the  law  and  the  prisoner, 
was  in  the  end  satisfied. 

Mr.  Delane  and  the  colonel,  widely  and  fiercely  as  they 
differed  on  every  subject  under  the  sun,  were  very  good 
friends,  and  they  rode  home  together  in  the  dusk  of  a 
September  evening,  for  their  roads  lay  the  same  way  for 
some  distance.  Presently  they  fell  in  with  Sir  Harry  Ful- 
mer,  who  had  been  to  see  Dale  Bannister,  and,  in  his  ab- 
sence, had  spent  the  afternoon  with  Nellie  Fane  and  Philip 
Hume. 

"  Hume's  quite  a  good  fellow,"  he  declared;  "  quiet, 

2 


34  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

you  know,  and  rather  sarcastic,  but  quite  a  gentleman. 
And  Miss  Fane — I  say,  have  you  seen  her,  colonel?" 

"  By  the  way,  who  is  Miss  Fane?"  asked  the  squire. 

"  Oh.  she  acts,  or  sings,  or  something.  Awfully  jolly 
girl,  and  uncommon  pretty.    Don't  you  think  so,  squire?" 

"  Yes,  I  did,  Harry.     But  why  is  she  staying  there?" 

"Really,  Delane,"  said  the  colonel,  "what  possible 
business  is  that  of  yours?" 

"  I've  called  on  Bannister,  and  he's  going  to  return  my 
call.     I  think  it's  a  good  deal  of  business  of  mine." 

"Well!"  exclaimed  the  colonel;  "for  sheer  unchar- 
itableness  and  the  thinking  of  all  evil,  give  me  a  respecta- 
ble Christian  man  like  yourself,  Delane." 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,"  said  Sir  Harry,  cheerfully.  "  The 
old  lady,  Mrs.  What's-her-name,  is  there." 

"  I  hope  it  is,"  said  the  squire.  "  Bannister  has  him- 
self to  thank  for  any  suspicions  which  may  be  aroused." 

"  Suspicions?  Bosh!"  said  the  colonel.  "  They  are  all 
coming  to  dine  with  me  to-morrow.  I  met  Bannister  and 
asked  him.  He  said  he  had  friends,  and  I  told  him  to 
bring  the  lot.     Will  you  and  Mrs.  Delane  come,  squire?" 

"  My  wife's  away,  thanks." 

"  Then  bring  Janet." 

"Hum!    I  think  I'll  wait." 

"  Oh,  as  you  please.     You'll  come,  Harry ?" 

Sir  Harry  was  delighted  to  come. 

"  Tora  was  most  anxious  to  know  them,"  the  colonel 
continued,  "  and  I  hate  ceremonious  ways.  There'll  be 
nobody  else,  except  the  doctor  and  his  wife." 

"  You  haven't  asked  Heclger  and  Johnstone,  have  you?" 
inquired  the  squire.  "  They're  friends  of  Bannister's.  I 
met  them  at  his  house.-" 

"  I  haven:t,  but  I  don't  know  why  I  shouldn't." 

"  Still  you  won't,"  said  Sir  Harry,  with  a  laugh. 

The  colonel  knew  that  he  would  not,  and  changed  the 
subject. 

"  This  is  a  great  occasion,"  said  Philip  Hume,  at  after- 
noon tea  next  day.  "  To-night  we  are  to  be  received  into 
county  society." 

"  Is  Colonel  Smith  '  county  society  '?"  asked  Nellie. 

"  Yes.     The  mayor  told  me  so.     The  colonel  is  a  Kadi- 


A    CHANGE    OF   AIK.  35 

cal,  and  a  bad  one  at  that,  but  the  poor  man  comes  of 
good  family  and  is  within  the  toils/' 

"  I  expect  he  really  likes  it,"  said  Nellie.     "  I  should." 

"  Are  you  nervous?"  inquired  Philip. 

Nellie  laughed  and  colored. 

"  I  really  am  a  little.  I  hope  I  shall  behave  properly. 
Mother  is  in  a  dreadful  state." 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Hodge?" 

"  Putting  some  new  lace  on  her  gown." 

"And  Dale?" 

"  He's  writing.  Mr.  Hume,  has  he  told  you  anything 
about  his  visit  yesterday?" 

"  Yes.     He  says  he  met  an  angel." 

"  Oh,  that  accounts  for  the  title." 

"  What  title?" 

"  Why,  I  went  and  looked  over  his  shoulder,  and  saw 
he  was  beginning  some  verses,  headed,  '  To  a  Pretty 
Saint. '  I  always  look,  you  know,  but  this  time  he  snatched 
the  paper  away." 

"'To  a  Pretty  Saint5?  Dear,  dear!  Perhaps  he 
meant  you,  Nellie." 

Miss  Fane  shook  her  head. 

"  He  meant  Miss  Delane,  I'm  sure,"  she  said,  dolefully. 
"  I  hope  Miss  Smith  is  just  exactly  a  county  young  lady — 
you  know  what  I  mean.     I  want  to  see  one." 

"  Do  you  contemplate  remodeling  yourself?" 

"  I'm  sure  Dale  will  like  that  sort  of  girl." 

Philip  looked  at  her  sideways.  He  thought  of  telling 
her  that  "  county  young  ladies  "  did  not  proclaim  all  their 
thoughts.     But  then  he  reflected  that  he  would  not. 

The  Littlehill  party  arrived  at  Mount  Pleasant,  the 
colonel's  residence,  in  the  nick  of  time;  and  Mrs.  Hodge 
sailed  in  to  dinner  on  her  host's  arm  in  high  good  humor. 
Dale,  as  the  great  man  and  the  stranger,  escorted  Tora, 
Philip  Hume  Mrs.  Roberts,  and  Sir  Harry  fell  to  Nellie's 
lot. 

Mrs.  Hodge  was  an  amusing  companion.  She  did  not 
dally  at  the  outworks  of  acquaintance,  but  closed  at  once 
into  intimacy,  and  before  half  an  hour  was  gone,  she  found 
herself  trying  hard  not  to  call  the  colonel  "  my  dear,"  and 
to  remember  to  employ  the  usual  prefixes  to  the  names  of 
the  company.     The  colonel  was  delighted;  was  he  at  last 


3G  A    CHANGE    OF   AIR. 

escaping  from  the  stifling  prison  of  conventionality  and 
breathing  a  freer  air?" 

Unhappily,  just  in  proportion  as  good  cheer  and  good 
fellowship  put  Mrs.  Hodge  at  her  ease,  and  made  her  more 
and  more  to  the  colonel's  taste,  her  daughter's  smothered 
uneasiness  grew  more  intense.  Nellie  had  borne  herself 
with  an  impossible  dignity  and  distance  of  manner  toward 
Sir  Harry,  in  the  fear  lest  Sir  Harry  should  find  her  want- 
ing in  the  characteristics  of  good  society,  and  her  frigidity 
was  increased  by  her  careful  watch  on  her  mother's  con- 
duct. Sir  Harry  was  disappointed.  As  he  could  not  sit 
by  Tora  Smith,  he  had  consoled  himself  with  the  prospect 
of  some  fun  with  "  little  Miss  Fane."  And  little  Miss 
Fane  held  him  at  arms' -length.  He  determined  to  try  to 
break  down  her  guard. 

"  How  did  you  manage  to  shock  the  squire  so?"  he 
asked 

"  Was  he  shocked?    I  didn't  know." 

"  You  were  there,  weren't  you?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  Well,  I  suppose  it  was  Mr.  Bannister's 
poetry." 

"  Why  should  that  shock  him?"  asked  Sir  Harry,  who 
knew  very  well.  "By  Jove!  I  wish  I  could  write  some 
like  it!" 

She  turned  to  him  with  sudden  interest. 

"  Do  you  admire  Dale's  writings?" 

"  Awfully/ '  said  Sir  Harry.     "  Don't  you?" 

"  Of  course  I  do,  but  I  didn't  know  whether  you  would. 
Do  you  know  Miss  Delane?" 

"  Yes,  very  well." 

"  Do  you  like  her?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  have  known  her  all  my  life,  and  I  like  her. 
She  frightens  me  a  little,  you  know." 

"Does  she?    How?" 

"  She  expects  such  a  lot  of  a  fellow.  Have  you  met 
her?" 

"  No.     D — Mr.  Bannister  has.     He  likes  her." 

"  I  expect  she  blew  him  up,  didn't  she?" 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't  think  so.     Dale  wouldn't  like  that." 

"  Depends  how  it's  done,"  observed  Sir  Harry.  "  Don't 
you  ever  blow  him  up?" 

"  Of  course  not.  Fm  much  too— I  look  up  to  him  too 
much." 


•      A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  37 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  colonel's  voice.  He  was 
saying,  with  much  energy: 

"  Ability  we  don't  expect  in  a  government  office,  but 
honesty  one  might  hope  for." 

"  Just  what  Hodge  used  to  say  of  old  Pratt,"  said  Mrs. 
Hodge. 

"I  beg  pardon?"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Pratt  was  his  manager,  you  know — my  husband's." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course." 

"  Nellie,  you  remember  your  father  throwing  down  that 
two  pound  ten  on  the  table,  and  saying,  '  Well,  I'm — '  " 

"  No,  mother,  I  don't.  Do  you  think  I  could  learn  to 
hunt,  Sir  Harry?" 

"  Of  course  you  could,  in  no  time." 

"  Does  Miss  Delane?" 

"  And  Pratt  said  that  if  Hodge  couldn't  play  the  king 
at  two  pound  ten  a  week — though  that's  hard  living,  my 
dear — I  beg  pai'don — colonel — " 

The  colonel  bowed  courteously.     Nellie  grew  very  red. 

"  Why,  bantam-cocks  had  risen  since  his  day,  and  that 
was  all  about  it."  And  Mrs.  Hodge  emptied  her  glass  and 
beamed  pleasantly  on  the  company. 

Suddenly  Dale  Bannister  began  to  laugh  gently.  Tora 
Smith  turned  an  inquiring  look  in  his  direction. 

"  What  is  it,  Mr.  Bannister?" 

"  I  saw  your  father's  butler  looking  at  my  friend,  Mrs. 
Hodge." 

"What  nonsense!  Simmons  is  not  allowed  to  look  at 
any  one." 

"Isn't  he?    Why  not?" 

"  No  good  servant  does." 

Dale  smiled. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  Tora  continued;  "  but  sure- 
ly while  they're  actually  waiting,  Mr.  Bannister,  we  can't 
treat  them  quite  like  ourselves?  At  any  other  time,  of 
course — " 

"  You'd  take  a  walk  with  them?" 

"  They'd  be  horribly  uncomfortable  if  I  did/'  she  an- 
swered, laughing. 

"  That's  the  worst  of  it,"  said  he. 

"  Do  you  think  us  great  shams?" 

"  I  have  come  to  learn,  not  to  criticise. " 


38  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  We  want  a  leader/ '  said  Tora,  with  pretty  earnest- 
ness. 

"  Haven't  you  one?" 

"  Sir  Harry  Fulmer  is  our  leader,  but  we're  not  con- 
tented with  him.  He's  a  very  mild  Kadical.  Won't  you 
come  to  our  help?" 

"  I  expect  I  should  be  too  extreme  the  other  way." 

"  Oh,  I  love  people  who  are  extreme — in  my  direction, 
I  mean." 

"  Well,  then,  try  the  doctor." 

"  Mr.  Roberts?  Oh,  he's  hardly  prominent  enough;  we 
must  have  somebody  of  position.  Now,  what  are  you 
laughing  at,  Mr.  Bannister?" 

The  gentleman  to  whom  they  referred  sat  looking  on  at 
them  with  no  great  pleasure,  though  they  found  one  an- 
other entertaining  enough  to  prevent  them  noticing  him. 
Dale  Bannister  said  that  his  new  friend  took  life  seriously, 
and  the  charge  was  too  true  for  the  doctor's  happiness. 
Dale  Bannister  had  taken  hold  of  his  imagination.  He 
expected  Dale  to  do  all  he  would  give  his  life  to  see  done, 
but  could  not  do  himself.  The  effect  of  Dale  was  to  be 
instantaneous,  enormous,  transforming  Denborough  and 
its  inhabitants.  He  regarded  the  poet  much  as  a  man 
might  look  upon  a  benevolent  volcano,  did  such  a  thing 
exist  in  the  order  of  nature.  His  function  was,  in  the  doc- 
tor's eyes,  to  pour  forth  the  burning  lava  of  truth  and 
justice,  wherewith  the  ignorance,  prejudice,  and  cruelty  of 
the  present  order  should  be  consumed  and  smothered;  let 
the  flood  be  copious,  scorching,  and  unceasing!  The  doc- 
tor could  do  little  more  than  bail  the  blessed  shower  and 
declare  its  virtues;  but  that  he  was  ready  to  do  at  any 
cost.  And  the  volcano  would  not  act!  The  eruptions 
were  sadly  intermittent.  The  hero,  instead  of  going  forth 
to  war,  was  capering  nimbly  in  a  lady's  chamber,  to  the 
lascivious  pleasing  of  a  lute;  that  is  to  say,  he  was  talking 
trifles  to  Tora  Smith,  with  apparent  enjoyment,  forgetful 
of  his  mission,  ignoring  the  powers  of  darkness  around. 
No  light-spreading  saying,  no  sword-flash  had  come  from 
him  all  the  evening.  He  was  fiddling  while  Rome  was — 
waiting  for  the  burning  it  needed  so  badly. 

Perhaps  it  was  a  woe-begone  look  about  the  doctor  that 
made  Philip  Hume  take  the  chair  next  him  after  dinner, 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  39 

while  Dale  was,  still  as  if  in  play,  emitting  anarchist 
sparks  for  the  colonel's  entertainment. 

"Is  it  possible/ '  asked  the  doctor  in  low,  half -angry 
tones,  "  that  he  thinks  these  people  are  any  good — that 
they  are  sincere  or  thorough  in  the  matter?  He's  wasting 
his  time." 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear  fellow,  we  must  all  dine,  what- 
ever our  opinions." 

"  Oh,  yes;  we  must  dine,  while  the  world  starves." 

"  The  bow  can't  be  always  stretched,"  said  Philip,  with 
a  slight  smile. 

"  You  don't  think,  Hume,  do  you,  that  he's  getting  any 
less — less  in  earnest,  you  know?" 

"  Oh,  he  wrote  a  scorcher  this  very  morning." 

"  Did  he?    That's  good  news.     Where  is  it  to  appear?" 

"  I  don't  know.     He  didn't  write  it  on  commission." 

"  His  poems  have  such  magnificent  restlessness,  haven't 
they?    I  can't  bear  to  see  him  idle." 

"Poor  Dale!  You  must  give  him  some  holidays.  He 
likes  pleasure  like  the  rest  of  us." 

The  doctor  sighed  impatiently,  and  Philip,  looking  at 
him  anxiously,  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Roberts,"  he  said,  "  there  is  no  need  that  you  should 
be  ground  to  powder." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  I  hope  you  never  will.  Your  wife  doesn't  look  very 
strong.     Why  don't  you  give  her  a  change?" 

"  A  change?  How  am  I  to  afford  a  change?  Besides, 
who  wants  a  change?  What  change  do  most  workers  get?" 

"  Hang  most  workers!     Your  wife  wants  a  change." 

"  I  haven't  got  the  money,  anyhow." 

"  Then  there's  an  end  of  it." 

The  colonel  rose,  and  they  made  for  the  drawing-room. 

Philip  detained  his  companion  for  a  moment. 

"  Well?"  said  the  doctor,  feeling  the  touch  on  his  arm. 

"  For  God's  sake,  old  fellow,  go  slow,"  said  Philip, 
pressing  his  arm,  and  looking  at  him  with  an  appealing 
smile.  

CHAPTER  VII. 

"TO  A   PEETTY   SAINT." 

When  Mrs.  Delane  came  back  from  London,  she  was 
met  with  a  question  of  the  precise  kind  on  which  she  felt 


40  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

herself  to  be  no  mean  authority.  It  was  a  problem  of  pro- 
priety, of  etiquette,  and  of  the  usages  of  society,  and  Mrs. 
Delane  attacked  it  with  a  due  sense  of  its  importance  and 
with  the  pleasure  of  an  expert.  It  arose  out  of  Dale 
Bannister's  call  at  the  Grange.  Dale  had  been  accus- 
tomed, when  a  lady  found  favor  in  his  eyes,  to  inform  her 
of  the  gratifying  news  through  the  medium  of  a  set  of 
verses,  more  or  less  enthusiastic  and  rhapsodic  in  their  nat- 
ure. The  impulse  to  follow  his  usual  practice  was  strong 
on  him  after  meeting  Janet  Delane,  and  issued  in  the  com- 
position of  that  poem  called  "Toa  Pretty  Saint/'  the 
title  of  which  Nellie  had  seen.  He  copied  it  out  fair,  and 
was  about  to  put  it  in  the  post,  when  a  thought  suddenly 
struck  him.  Miss  Delane  was  not  quite  like  most  of  his 
acquaintances.  It  was  perhaps  possible  that  she  might 
think  his  action  premature,  or  even  impertinent,  and  that 
she  might  deem  it  incumbent  on  her  to  resent  being  called 
either  a  saint  or  pretty  by  a  friend  of  one  interview's  stand- 
ing. Dale  was  divided  between  his  new-born  doubt  of  his 
own  instinct  of  what  was  permissible  and  his  great  reluc- 
tance to  doom  his  work  to  suppression.  He  decided  to 
consult  Philip  Hume,  who  was,  as  he  knew,  more  habitu- 
ated to  the  social  atmosphere  of  places  like  Denshire. 

"  Eh?  what?"  said  Philip,  who  was  busily  engaged  in 
writing  a  newspaper  article.  "  Written  a  poem  to  a  girl? 
All  right.     I'll  listen  presently." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  listen.  I  want  your  advice  as  to 
whether  to  send  it  or  not." 

"  If  you've  wasted  your  time  writing  the  thing — by  the 
way,  take  care  the  doctor  doesn't  hear  of  it — you  may  as 
well  send  it." 

"  The  question  is,  whether  she'll  be  offended." 

"  I'm  glad  it  isn't  more  important,  because  I'm  busy." 

"  Look  here!  Stop  that  anonymous  stabber  of  yours 
and  listen.     It's  to  Miss  Delane." 

Philip  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  particularly  vicious 
paragraph  of  the  "  stabber,"  and  looked  up  with  amuse- 
ment on  his  face. 

"  It's  a  perfectly — you  know — suitable  poem,"  pursued 
Dale.    "  The  only  question  is,  will  she  think  it  a  liberty?" 

"  Oh,  send  it.  They  like  getting  'em;"  and  Philip  took 
up  his  pen  again. 

"  You  don't  know  the  sort  of  girl  she  is." 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIE.  41 

"  Then  what  the  deuce  is  the  good  of  asking  me?  Ask 
Nellie.'' 

"  No,  I  sha'nV  said  Dale,  shortly. 

Thus  thrown,  by  his  friend's  indifference,"  on  his  own 
judgment,  Dale  made  up  his  mind  to  send  the  verses — he 
could  not  deny  himself  the  pleasure — but,  half  alarmed  at 
his  own  audacity,  which  feeling  was  a  new  one  in  him,  he 
"  hedged  "  by  inclosing  with  them  a  letter  of  an  apolo- 
getic character.  Miss  Delane  was  not  to  suppose  that  he 
took  the  liberty  of  referring  to  her  in  the  terms  of  his 
title;  the  little  copy  of  verses  had  merely  been  suggested 
by  a  remark  she  made.  He  had  failed  to  find  an  answer 
on  the  spot.  Would  she  pardon  him  for  giving  his  answer 
now  in  this  indirect  way? — and  so  forth. 

The  verses,  with  their  accompanying  letter,  were  received 
by  Janet,  and  Janet  had  no  doubt  of  what  she  did  feel 
about  them,  but  some  considerable  doubt  as  to  what  she 
ought  to  feel;  so  she  carried  them  to  her  mother.  Mrs. 
Delane  put  on  her  pince-nez  and  read  the  documents  in  the 
case. 

"  I'm  sure  he  didn't  mean  to  be — anything  but  what's 
nice,  mamma,"  said  Janet. 

"  I  dare  say  not,  my  dear.  The  question  is,  whether 
the  young  man  knows  his  manners.     Let's  see." 

After  careful  perusal,  during  which  Janet  watched  her 
mother's  face  with  some  anxiety,  Mrs.  Delane  delivered 
judgment. 

"  There's  no  positive  harm  in  them,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
don't  think  we  need  take  any  actual  steps.  Still,  Janet, 
he  is  evidently  to  be  treated  with  discretion." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  mamma?" 

"  Well,  he  isn't  in  need  of  encouragement,  is  he?  He's 
not  backward  in  making  friends." 

"  I  suppose  not.     May  I  keep  them?" 

"  Keep  them?    Do  you  want  to  keep  them?" 

"Not  particularly,  dear,"  answered  Janet.  "I — I 
thought  he  meant  me  to. " 

"  No  doubt.  Write  a  civil  note,  dear,  thank  him  for 
letting  you  see  them,  and  return  them  inclosed." 

Janet  was  a  little  reluctant  to  part  with  her  autograph 
manuscript — not  because  of  its  pecuniary  value,  though 
that  was  more  than  a  trifle,  had  she  known,  but  because 
such  things  are  pleasant  possessions  to  show  to  envious 


42  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

friends — but  she  did  as  she  was  told.  She  did  not,  how- 
ever, feel  herself  bound  altogether  to  smother  her  pride  or 
to  make  a  secret  of  the  tribute  she  had  received.  Tora 
Smith  heard  the  story  with  evident  amusement,  and, 
thinking  that  others  would  share  her  appreciation  of  it, 
relieved  the  somewhat  uphill  course  of  Mrs.  Hodge's  call 
by  a  repetition  of  it;  whereby  it  happened  that  Nellie  Fane 
came  to  know,  not  only  that  Dale  had  written  verses  to 
Miss  Delane  and  sent  them,  but  also  that  Miss  Delane  had 
returned  the  offering.  She  told  Philip  the  latter  fact,  and 
the  two  ventured  to  rally  the  poet  on  the  occurrence. 
Dale  took  their  action  very  badly,  and  his  displeasure  soon 
reduced  Nellie  to  apologies.     Philip  was  less  sensitive. 

"  D.  W.  T.,  by  Jove!"  he  remarked.  "  Quite  like  old 
times,  Dale!" 

Dale  muttered  something  about  "  infernal  chatter." 

"  You  will  soon  be  in  a  position  to  publish  a  volume 
of  '  Eejected  Addresses.'  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Dale.  "  It's  simply  that  she  didn't 
understand  I  meant  her  to  keep  them. " 

"  Oh,  that's  her  delicate  way  of  snubbing  you,  my  boy." 

""What  the  deuce  do  you  know  about  it,  Phil?  You 
never  wrote  verses  in  your  life.  Don't  you  agree  with  me, 
Nellie?" 

"  Miss  Smith  said  Miss  Delane  thought  she  had  better 
not  keep  them." 

"  I  knew  that  girl  was  a  gossip  directly  I  set  eyes  on 
her." 

"  You're  naturally  hurt,  old  fellow,  but — " 

"  Go  to  the  deuce!  Look  here,  I'll  bet  you  a  fiver  she 
takes  them  back  and  keeps  them." 

"  Done!"  said  Philip,  and  Dale  seized  his  hat. 

"  "Why  does  he  want  her  to  take  them?"  asked  Nellie. 

"  Vanity,  my  dear,  vanity.  I  suppose  he's  accustomed 
to  having  his  verses  laid  up  in  lavender.  Is  that  what  you 
do  with  yours?" 

"  He  never  wrote  me  any,"  answered  Nellie  in  a  tone 
of  superlative  indifference. 

It  being  only  two  o'clock,  Dale  felt  he  could  not  yet  go 
to  the  Grange.  He  made  a  detour  by  the  to wn,_  on  pre- 
tense of  buying  stamps;  and,  the  stars  fighring  with  him, 
outside  the  mayor's  shop  he  saw  Janet  talking  to  the 
mayor  himself. 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  43 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Delane,  miss/'  said  the  mayor. 
"  Mrs.  Hedger  is  doin'  nicely.  She  had  a  bit  of  feverish- 
ness  about  her,  but  Doctor  Spink's  treated  her  wonderful." 

"  Doctor  Spink?  I  thought  you  went  to  Doctor  Roberts?" 

"  I  did,  miss,  but —  Well,  things  come  round  to  me, 
miss,  being  a  center  like." 

"  What  things?" 

"  Well,  you  may  not  have  heard,  miss,  of  the  things 
that —  Good-mornin',  Mr.  Bannister,  sir,  good-mornin'. 
A  fine  day.     Anything  in  our  line,  sir?" 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Mayor,"  said  Dale.  "  Ah,  Miss 
Delane,  how  do  you  do?" 

His  coming  interrupted  Janet's  investigations  into  the 
affairs  of  the  doctor',  and  she  took  her  leave  of  the  mayor, 
Dale  assuming  permission  to  walk  with  her.  He  ought  to 
have  asked,  no  doubt,  thought  Janet,  but  it  would  be 
making  too  much  of  it  to  tell  him  so. 

They  had  hardly  started  when  he  turned  to  her: 

"  Why  did  you  send  back  my  verses?" 

"  I  could  hardly  venture  to  keep  them,  could  I?" 

"Why  not?" 

"  On  so  slight  an  acquaintance!  It  was  very  kind  of  you 
to  let  me  see  them  before  they  were  published." 

"  They're  not  going  to  be  published." 

"  Oh,  you  must  publish  them.  They're  so  very  pretty/' 

"  Didn't  you  think  I  meant  you  to  keep  them?" 

"  I  should  have  been  very  conceited  if  I  had,  shouldn't 
I?" 

"  Well,  they  were  for  you — not  to  be  published.  If  you 
don't  like  them,  they'll  be  burned,  that's  all." 

Janet  stole  a  glance  at  his  face;  he  looked  like  a  petu- 
lant Apollo — so  she  thought. 

"That  would  be  a  pity,"  she  said,  gravely;  "but  I 
don't  think  I  ought  to  keep  them." 

"  Why  not?" 

Socrates  is  reported  to  have  said  that  nothing  is  reason- 
able which  can  not  be  stated  in  a  reasonable  form.  Miss 
Janet  Delane  would  have  dissented. 

"  Of  course  I  like  them  very  much.  But — well,  we 
haven't  known  each  other  very  long,  Mr.  Bannister." 

"  You  mean  it  was  impertinent?" 

"Oh,  do.  I  thought  your  letter  perfect — I  did  really. 
But  mamma  thought — " 


44  A    CHANGE    OF    AIK. 

"  Oil!"  said  Dale,  with  brightening  face.  ' '  You  would 
have  kept  them.?'" 

"  That's  not  the  question/'  said  Janet,  smiling.  It  was 
pleasant  to  see  Apollo  looking  less  petulant.  "  But  what 
would  people  say  if  they  heard  I  had  poems  of  Mr.  Dale 
Bannister's  about  me?  I  should  be  thought  a  dangerous 
person."  . 

"  I'll  write  some  which  you  would  like  to  have/ 

"lam  sure  you  could,  if  you  only  would.  Fancy,  if 
you  wrote  really  noble  verses — worthy  of  you!" 

"  Well,  1  will,  if  it  will  please  you." 

"Nonsense,  Mr.  Bannister!  There's  no  question  of 
pleasing  me:  it  doesn't  matter— well,  I  mean,  then,  the 
great  thing  is  to  do  justice  to  yourself." 

"  I  ought  to  have  some  encouragement  in  well-doing," 
said  Dale,  plaintively. 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  smile,  and  he  went  on: 

"I  wish  you'd  come  to  Littlehill  and  see  the  house. 
I've  improved  it  tremendously." 

"  Oh,  you  must  invite  mamma." 

"  Would  Mrs.  Delane  come?" 

This  question  was  a  little  awkward,  for  Mrs.  Delane, 
after  cross-examining  Tora  Smith  closely  as  to  Mrs. 
Hodge  and  her  daughter,  had  announced  that  she  would 
not  go. 

"  A  bachelor  doesn't  entertain  ladies,  does  he?" 

"  I  should  like  to;  and  there  are  some  ladies — "  A  sud- 
den thought  struck  him,  and  he  stopped.  He  looked  so 
pointedly  at  Janet  that,  to  her  intense  annoyance,  she  felt 
herself  blushing.  She  made  the  grave  mistake  of  chang- 
ing the  conversation  abruptly. 

"  How  did  you  like  the  Smiths?" 

"Oh,  pretty  well." 

"  I  should  have  thought  you  would  have  got  on  tremen- 
dously well  together." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  think  I  like  people  to  be  one 
thing  or  the  other,  and  the  Smiths  are  half-way  housers." 

"  You're  very  ungrateful." 

"  Oh,  they  only  asked  us  as  a  demonstration,"  said  Dale, 
who  had  some  acuteness. 

Janet  laughed,  but  her  companion  was  moodily  prodding 
the  ground  with  his  stick  as  he  walked  along. 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIK.  45 

They  reached  a  cottage  where  she  had  a  visit  to  pay,  and 
she  bid  him  good-bye. 

"  Then  you  won't  have  the  verses?" 

"I  think  not." 

"  Very  well,  then,  here  goes;"  and  he  took  the  paper 
out  of  his  pocket  and  tore  it  to  bits.  The  fragments  flut- 
tered to  the  ground. 

"  How  foolish!"  she  said.  "  I  dare  say  they  were  worth 
a  lot  of  money — but,  then,  you  can  write  them  out  again." 

"  Do  you  think  I  shall?"  he  asked,  grinding  the  frag- 
ments into  the  mud. 

"I'm  afraid  you  will  do  nothing  wise,"  she  said,  giving 
him  her  hand.     Yet  the  extravagance  rather  pleased  her. 

Until  Dale  reached  his  own  house  it  did  not  strike  him 
that  he  had  lost  his  bet.  Philip  quickly  reminded  him, 
and  laughed  mercilessly  when  a  crumpled  five-pound  note 
was  thrown  at  his  head  by  his  angry  friend. 

"  I  tell  you  she  wanted  to  keep  them,"  said  Dale,  un- 
justifiably. 

"  Then  why  didn't  she?"  asked  Nellie. 

"  Mrs.  Delane  didn't  approve  of  it." 

"  I  expect  Mrs.  Delane  doesn't  approve  of  you  at  all," 
remarked  Philip. 

"  No,  nor  of  my  friends,  either,"  answered  Dale,  fling- 
ing himself  into  a  chair. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hodge,  who  sat  by,  "  her 
opinion  will  neither  make  us  nor  mar  us." 

"  How  have  we  had  the  misfortune  to  offend  the  lady?" 
inquired  Philip.     "  She  has  never  seen  us." 

"  Here's  your  tea,  Dale,"  said  Nellie.  "  Are  you  tired?" 

"  Yes,  a  little.     Thanks,  Nellie." 

"  Was  she  looking  nice,  Dale?" 

"I  didn't  see  her." 

"  I  mean  Miss  Delane." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so.     I  didn't  look  much." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AN  INDISCKEET  DISCIPLE. 

Summee  wore  away,  and  autumn  came  in  brief,  calm 
radiance,  and  passed;  winter  began  to  threaten.  At  Den- 
borough  one  quiet  day  followed  another,  each  one  notice- 


46  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

able  for  little,  but  in  the  aggregate  producing  some  not 
unimportant  changes  at  Littlehill.  Dale  Bannister  had 
begun  to  work  hard  and  to  work  in  solitude;  the  inspira- 
tion of  Nellie's  eyes  seemed  either  unnecessary  or  ineffect- 
ual. Moreover,  his  leisure  hours  were  now  largely  spent 
in  visiting  at  houses  in  the  neighborhood.  He  did  not  neg- 
lect his  guests,  but  whenever  their  engagements  occupied 
them,  instead  of  wandering  about  alone  or  enjoying  the 
humors  of  the  High  Street,  as  he  had  been  prone  to  do  in 
the  early  days  of  his  sojourn,  he  would  go  over  to  Mount 
Pleasant,  or  to  the  Grange,  or  to  Sir  Harry  Fulmer's, 
and  he  was  becoming  learned  in  country  lore  and  less 
scornful  of  country  ways.  The  doctor  was  a  rare  visitor 
now,  and,  when  he  came,  it  generally  fell  to  Philip  Hume's 
lot  to  entertain  him.  Philip  did  his  duty  lo}xally,  but  it 
was  dreary  work,  for  Roberts'  conversation,  at  their  meet- 
ings, consisted,  in  the  main,  of  diatribes  against  Dale 
Bannister.  He  would  declare  that  Dale's  conduct,  in 
maintaining  friendly  relations  with  the  gentry  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, was  in  flagrant  contradiction  to  the  views  he  had 
proclaimed  in  his  writings.  Philip  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  said  that  some  men  were  better  than  their  writings, 
some  worse,  but  no  man  the  same  as  his  writings;  the 
prose  must  ever  be  allowed  for;  and  at  this  the  angry  man 
often  turned  his  back  on  the  house  with  an  imprecation  on 
half-heartedness.  For  the  rest,  Philip's  hands  were  not 
very  full,  and  he  and  Nellie  Fane  found  time  for  long  ex- 
peditions together,  which  would  have  been  more  cheerful 
had  it  not  been  for  Nellie's  scrupulous  determination  to 
ignore  the  absence  of  the  third  member  of  the  old  trio. 
One  day  Philip's  idle  steps  led  him  through  the  town  on 
the  search  for  matter  of  amusement.  He  was  caught  in  a 
shower,  and  took  refuge  in  the  mayor's  shop,  knowing 
that  his  worship  always  had  time  for  a  gossip.  He  was 
not  disappointed.  The  mayor  entertained  him  with  a 
graphic  account  of  the  last  assault  on  Mr.  Delane's  posi- 
tion as  member  for  the  Denborough  division,  and  of  his 
own  recent  re-election  to  his  high  office.  Philip  congratu- 
lated him  on  the  latter  event,  and  asked  in  curiosity: 
"  And  what  are  your  politics,  Mr.  Mayor?" 
"  I  hold  as  a  man  in  my  position  should  have  no  poli- 
tics, nor  party  politics,  Mr.  Hume,  sir." 

"  Well,  there's  something  to  be  said  for  that." 


A   CHAKGE    OF    AIR.  47 

"  After  all,  we  know  what  they  are,  sir.  One  out  and 
the  other  in — that's  what  they  are,  sir." 

"  But  you  said  Mrs.  Hedger  canvassed  for  the  squire." 

"  So  she  did,  sir.  Now,  my  daughter  is  on  the  Liberal 
side;  she  and  Miss  Smith  used  to  go  a-drivin'  round  to- 
gether." 

"  A  sad  division  of  opinion,  Mr.  Mayor." 

"  Well,  we  can  differ  without  clisagreehr ,  sir.  Besides," 
he  added,  with  something  like  a  wink,  "  customers  differ 
too." 

"Most  true." 

"  Business  is  business,  sir,  especially  with  a  growin' 
fam'ly.  I  always  think  of  my  fam'ly,  Mr.  Hume,  and 
how  I  should  leave  'em  if  I  was  took — taken." 

"  A  man's  first  duty,  Mr.  Mayor." 

"  You  wouldn't  catch  me  goin'  on  like  this  young  Rob- 
erts." 

"  Why,  what's  he  been  up  to  now?"  asked  Philip,  un- 
easily. 

"  You  ain't  seen  the  Standard,  sir?"  The  mayor,  of 
course,  meant  the  East  Denshire  Standard,  not  the  Lon- 
don paper  of  the  same  name. 

"No." 

"  Well,  last  week  they  printed  the  vicar's  sermon  on 
'  The  Work  of  Christianity  in  the  World. '  A  fine  sermon 
it  was,  sir.  I  heard  it,  being  a  Church  of  England  man. 
Mrs.  Hedger  goes  to  chapel." 

"  *  Customers  differ  too,'  "  thought  Philip,  smiling. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  Jones,  of  the  Standard,  got  the 
vicar  to  give  it  'im,  and  it  came  out,'  with  a  leadin'  article 
of  Jones'  crackin'  it  up." 

"  But  how  does  the  doctor — " 

"  This  week,  sir,"  continued  the  mayor,  shaking  an  im- 
pressive forefinger,  "  in  the  Chronicle — that's  the  Liberal 
paper,  sir — there's  a  letter  from  the  doctor — two  columns 
— just  abusin'  the  church  and  the  parsons,  and  the  'ole 
— whole  thing,  fit  to — well,  I  never  did!" 

"  Hum!    Rather  rash,  isn't  it?" 

"  Rash,  Mr.  Hume,  sir?  It's  madness,  that's  what  it 
is,  sir.  He  talks  about  'pestilent  priests,'  and  I  don't 
know  what  all,  sir,  and  ends  with  quotin'  thirty  or  forty 
lines  from  a  poem  called,  I  think,  4  The  Arch  Apostates  * 
— would  that  be  it,  sir? — by  Mr.  Bannister." 


48  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  No!  does  he,  by  Jove?"  said  Philip,  slapping  his  thigh. 

"  And  the  po' try,  sir,  is  worse  than  the  doctor's  own 
stuff,  sir,  beggin'  your  pardon  as  a  friend  of  Mr.  Ban- 
nister." 

"  I  know  the  lines.  They're  some  of  the  hottest  he's 
ever  done." 

"  Mr.  Bannister,  of  course,  can  afford  it,  sir — his  opin- 
ions are  what  he  pleases — but  the  doctor,  sir!" 

"  So  the  fat's  in  the  fire?" 

"  Just  the  very  worst  time  it  could  ha'  come  out,  sir. 
The  guardians  over  at  Dirkham  meet  to-morrow  to  elect 
their  medical  officer.  I'm  afraid  as  they  won't  re-elect  Doc- 
tor Roberts,  sir,  and  there  was  more  than  one  down  at  the 
Delane  Arms  sayin'  they'd  had  the  last  to  do  with  him." 

Philip  parted  from  his  informant  in  much  concern  for 
Roberts,  and  in  no  small  amusement  at  the  public  placard- 
ing of  "The  Arch  Apostates."  "  Surtout,  point  de 
zele"  he  could  imagine  Dale  saying  to  his  infatuated  dis- 
ciple. 

On  returning  home,  however,  he  found  the  poet  saying 
much  harder  things  of,  if  not  to,  Mr.  Roberts.  Dale* had 
been  calling  at  the  Smiths'.  The  colonel,  while  shaking 
his  head  over  Roberts'  impudence,  had  applauded  his 
opinions,  and  was,  above  all,  enchanted  with  the  extract 
from  Dale's  poem,  which  he  had  never  hitherto  read.  His 
pleasure  was,  as  he  told  Dale,  greatly  increased  by  finding 
that  the  letter  and  the  quotation  had  fallen  like  a  bomb- 
shell on  the  Grange  household. 

"  The  squire  was  furious.  Mrs.  Delane  said  she  had  no 
idea  you  had  done  anything  so  bad  as  that;  and  little  Janet 
sat  and  looked  as  if  some  one  had  knocked  down  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury.  It  was  splendid!  Gad,  sir,  you've 
waked  'em  up." 

These  congratulations  had  the  effect  of  reducing  the  poet 
almost  to  a  frenzy.  "  What  business,"  he  demanded, 
"  has  the  fellow  to  quote  me  in  support  of  his  balderdash 
without  my  leave?" 

"  My  dear  fellow,  your  works  are  the  possession  of  the 
nation,"  said  Philip,  smiling,  as  he  lighted  a  cigar. 

"  It's  an  infernal  liberty!"  fumed  Dale. 

"  You  light  the  fire,  and  blame  it  for  blazing,"  said 
Philip. 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIK.  49 

"  One  doesn't  want  to  shove  one's  views  down  people's 
throats. " 

"  Doesn't  one?    One  used  to." 

"  I  shall  write  and  disclaim  any  responsibility." 

"For  the  poem?" 

"  For  its  publication,  of  course." 

"  That  won't  do  you  much  good." 

The  mayor's  forecast,  based  on  a  lifelong  observation  of 
his  neighbors,  proved  only  too  correct.  Dr.  Spink  entered 
the  lists  against  Roberts,  and  was  elected  by  every  vote 
save  one.  Sir  Harry  Fulmer,  in  blind  and  devoted  obedi- 
ence to  Tora  Smith,  voted  for  Roberts;  the  rest,  headed 
by  the  squire,  installed  his  rival  in  his  place;  and  the 
squire,  having  sternly  done  his  duty,  sat  down  and  wrote 
a  long  and  friendly  letter  of  remonstrance  and  explanation 
to  his  erring  friend. 

As  misfortune  followed  misfortune,  the  doctor  set  his 
teeth,  and  dared  fate  to  do  her  worst.  He  waited  a  few 
days,  hoping  to  be  comforted  by  a  word  of  approval  from 
his  master;  none  came.  At  last  he  determined  to  seek 
out  Dale  Bannister,  and  was  about  to  start,  when  his  wife 
came  in  and  gave  him  the  new  issue  of  the  Chronicle. 
Ethel  Roberts  was  pale  and  weary-looking,  and  she  glanced 
anxiously  at  her  husband. 

"lam  going  up  to  Littlehill,"  he  said. 

"  Have  you  done  your  round,  dear?" 

"  My  round  doesn't  take  long  nowadays.  Maggs  will 
give  me  fifteen  pounds  for  the  pony;  you  know  we  don't 
want  him  now." 

"  No,  Jim,  and  we  do  want  fifteen  pounds." 

"  What's  that?" 

"  The  Chronicle,  dear.  There's — a  letter  from  Mr. 
Bannister." 

"  Is  there?  Good!  Let's  see  what  Bannister  has  to 
say  to  these  bigoted  idiots." 

He  opened  the  paper,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  front 
page  read: 

"A  DISCLAIMER  FKOM  MR.    BANNISTER. 

<e  Sir, — I  desire  to  state  that  the  use  made  by  Mr. 
James  Roberts  of  my  poem  in  your  last  issue  was  without 
my  authority  or  approbation.      The  poem  was  written 


a 


50  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

some  years  ago,  and  must  not  be  assumed  to  represent  my 
present  view  on  the  subject  of  which  it  treats. 

"  I  am,  sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

"  Dale  Bannister.' ' 


The  doctor  stared  at  the  letter. 

"  Bannister — Dale  Bannister  wrote  that!"  and  he  flung 
the  paper  angrily  on  the  floor.     "  Give  me  my  hat" 

"You're  not  going — " 

"  Yes,  I  am,  Ethel.  I'm  going  to  find  out  what  this 
means." 

:i  Hadn't  you  better  wait  till  you're  less — " 

"  Less  what,  Ethel?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Till  the  rain  stops,  Jim,  dear;  and  it's  just  baby's 
time  for  coming  down." 

"  Hang — no,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Ethel.  I'm  very  sorry, 
but  I  must  see  the  end  of  this." 

He  rushed  out,  and  the  baby  found  a  dull,  preoccupied, 
almost  tearful,  very  unamusing  mother  to  play  with  that 
day. 

The  doctor  marched  into  Dale's  room  with  a  stern  look 
on  his  face. 

"  Well,  Roberts,  how  are  you?"  asked  Dale,  not  gra- 
ciously. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Bannister?" 

"  It  means,  my  dear  fellow,  that  you  took  my  name  in 
vain,  and  I  had  to  say  so." 

"  I'm  not  thinking  of  myself,  though  it  would  have 
been  more  friendly  to  write  to  me  first." 

"  Well,  I  was  riled,  and  didn't  think  of  that." 

"  But  do  you  mean  to  deny  your  own  words?" 

<{  Really,  Roberts,  you  seem  to  forget  that  I  don't  enjoy 
setting  the  place  by  the  ears,  although  you  seem  to." 

"  You  wrote  that  poem?" 

"  Of  course  I  wrote  the  damned  thing,"  said  Dale, 
peevishly. 

"  And  now — Bannister,  you're  not  going  to — to  throw 
us  over?" 

"  Nonsense!  I  like  to  publish  my  views  at  my  own 
time  and  place,  that's  all." 

"  A  man  like  you  belongs  to  his  followers  as  much  as  to 
himself." 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  51 

"More,  it  seems." 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  almost  scornfully.  Dale  did 
not  like  scorn  from  any  one. 

"  I  was  particularly  anxious,"  he  began,  apologetically, 
"  not  to  get  into  a  shindy  here.  I  wanted  to  drop  politics 
and  so  on,  and  be  friendly — " 

"  Do  you  know  what  you're  saying,  or  the  meanness  of 
it?" 

"  Meanness?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"  You  know  very  well.  All  I  want  to  know  is  if  you 
wrote  this  thing?" 

"  Of  course  I  wrote  it." 

66  And  you  stand  to  it?" 

"  Yes.  I  think  you  ought  to  have  asked  me  before 
you  did  it." 

"  The  squire  is  shocked,  eh?"  asked  the  doctor,  with  a 
sneer. 

"  The  squire's  views  are  nothing  to  me,"  answered  Dale, 
flushing  very  red. 

The  doctor  laughed  bitterly. 

"  Come,  come,  old  fellow,"  said  Dale,  "  don't  let  us 
quarrel." 

"  Quarrel?  Well,  we  won't.  Only  look  here,  Bannis- 
ter." 

"Well?" 

"  If  you  throw  us  over  now,  you'll  be — " 

"  There,  don't  abuse  me  any  more." 

"  Oh,  I  wasn't  going  to  abuse  you.  If  you  leave  us — 
you,  the  leader  we  trusted — where  are  we,  where  are  we?" 

"  Give  me  another  chance,"  said  Dale,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

"  You  won't  withdraw  this?" 

"  How  the  deuce  can  I  now?" 

The  doctor  shook  his  hand,  saying: 

"  Don't  betray  us,  don't  detray  us;"  and  thus  the  very 
uncomfortable  interview  came  "to  a  desired  end. 

That  night  at  dinner  Dale  was  cross  and  in  low  spirits. 
His  friends,  perceiving  it,  forbore  to  express  their  views 
as  to  his  last  public  utterance,  and  the  repast  dragged  its 
weary  length  along  amid  intermittent  conversation. 

When  the  dessert  was  on  the  table,  a  note  was  brought 
for  Dale.     It  was  from  the  squire. 


52  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  Dear  Bannister,— I  was  very  glad  to  see  your  letter 
in  the  Chronicle.  Mrs.  Delane  joins  me  in  hoping  you  will 
dine  with  us  to-morrow  en  famille.  Excuse  short  notice. 
The  man  waits  for  an  answer— don't  write  one. 

"  Yours  truly,  George  Delane.  " 

"  Say  I'll  come  with  great  pleasure,"  said  Dale,  his  face 
growing  brighter.  ™.,. 

"  Where  will  he  go  with  great  pleasure?"  asked  Philip 
of  Nellie  Fane. 

"  Where  is  it,  Dale?" 

"  Oh,  only  to  the  Grange,  to  dinner  to-morrow.  I  think 
I  had  better  write  a  note,  though;  don't  you  think  so, 
Phil?    More — more  attentive,  you  know." 

"  Write,  my  son,"  answered  Philip;  and  as  Dale  left 
the  room  he  looked  round  with  a  smile  and  exclaimed, 
"One!" 

"  One  what,  my  dear?"  asked  Mrs.  Hodge. 

"  Piece  of  silver,  ma'am,"  replied  Philip. 

"  You're  sneering  again,"  said  Nellie  in  a  warning  tone. 

"  Why  shouldn't  he  like  to  dine  at  the  Grange?"  and 
she  looked  marvelously  reasonable  and  indifferent. 

"  I  was  speaking  with  the  voice  of  Doctor  Eoberts,  Nel- 
lie, that's  all.  For  my  own  part,  I  think  a  dinner  is  one 
of  those  things  one  may  accept,  even  from  the  enemy." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

dale's  own  opinion. 
If  ever  our  own  fortune  would  allow  us  to  be  perfectly 
happy,  the  consummation  is  prevented  and  spoiled  by  the 
obstinately  intruding  unhappiness  of  others.  The  rev- 
erend person  who  was  of  opinion  that  the  bliss  of  the 
blessed  would  be  increased  and,  so  to  say,  vivified  by  the 
sight  of  the  tortures  of  the  damned,  finds  few  supporters 
nowadays,  perhaps  because  our  tenderer  feelings  shrink 
from  such  a  ruthless  application  of  the  doctrine  that  only 
by  contemplating  the  worse  can  we  enjoy  the  better;  per- 
haps also  because  we  are  not  so  sure  as  he  was  that  we 
should  not  be  the  onlooked  rather  than  the  onlookers  if 
ever  his  picture  came  to  be  realized.  So  sensitive  are  we 
to  the  ills  that  others  suffer  that  at  times  we  feel  almost  a 
grudge  against  them  for  their  persistence — however  unwill- 


A    CHANGE    OF   AIE.  53 

ing  it  be — in  marring  our  perfect  contentment;  surely 
they  could  let  us  forget  them  for  once  in  a  way. 

This  last  was  Dale  Bannister's  frame  of  mind  as  he  lay, 
idly  and  yet  not  peacefully,  on  his  sofa  next  morning. 
This  doctor,  with  his  unflinching  logic  and  unrestrained 
zeal,  was  a  nuisance.  His  devotion  had  not  been  sought, 
and  certainly,  if  it  entailed  scenes  like  yesterday's,  was  not 
desired.  Dale  never  asked  him  to  ruin  his  practice,  as 
Philip  Hume  said  he  was  doing,  in  order  to  uphold  Dale's 
principles;  Dale  did  not  want  a  starving  family  to  his 
account,  whose  hungry  looks  should  press  him  to  a  close 
questioning  of  his  conscience.  Any  man  with  an  ounce  of 
common  sense  would  understand  that  there  was  a  time  for 
everything,  and  a  place.  It  was  one  thing  to  publish  your 
views  in  a  book,  addressed  to  the  world  of  thinkers  and 
intelligent  readers;  it  was  quite  another  to  brandish  them 
in  the  face  of  your  neighbors,  and  explode  them,  like 
shells,  in  the  innocent  streets  of  Denborough.  And  yet, 
because  he  recognized  this  obvious  distinction,  because  he 
had  some  sense  of  what  was  suitable  and  reasonable,  and 
because  he  refused  to  make  enemies  of  people  simply  be- 
cause they  were  well  oft,  the  doctor  stormed  at  him  as  if 
he  were  a  traitor  and  a  snob.  And  Philip  Hume  had 
taken  to  smiling  in  an  aggravating  way  when  the  Grange 
was  mentioned;  and  even  Nellie —  But  Dale,  alert  as 
he  was  in  his  present  mood  to  discover  matter  of  com- 
plaint, found  none  against  Nellie,  unless  it  might  be  some 
falling  off  in  her  old  cheerfulness  and  buoyancy. 

Dale  lighted  his  pipe  and  set  himself  to  consider  with 
impartiality  whether  Roberts  had  in  fact  any  grievance 
against  him.  He  wanted  to  satisfy  himself  that  there  was 
no  basis  for  the  doctor's  indignation;  his  self-esteem  de- 
manded that  the  accusation  should  be  disproved.  But 
really  it  was  too  plain.  What  had  he  done?  Refused  to 
acquiesce  in  being  made  a  fool  of,  refused  to  meet  civility 
with  incivility,  to  play  the  churl,  to  shut  his  eyes  to  intelli- 
gence and  culture  and  attractiveness  because  they  hap- 
pened to  be  found  among  people  who  did  not  think  as  he 
did  or  as  Roberts  was  pleased  to  think.  He  knew  what 
those  sneers  meant,  but  he  would,  go  his  own  way.  Things 
had  come  to  a  pretty  pass  if  a  man  might  not  be  civil  and 
seek  to  avoid  wholly  unnecessary  causes  of  offense  without 
being  treated  as  a  renegade  to  all  his  convictions.     That 


54:  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

was  not  his  idea  of  breadth  of  mind  or  toleration,  or  of 
good  feeling  either.  It  was  simple  bigotry,  as  narrow  as — 
ay,  narrower  than — anything  he  at  least  had  found  on  the 
other  side. 

Dale  disposed  of  this  question,  but  he  still  lay  on  the 
sofa  and  thought.  It  had  been  a  gain  to  him,  he  said  to 
himself,  to  see  this  new  side  of  life;  the  expedition  to  Lit- 
tlehill  was  well  justified.  It  is  good  for  a  man  to  take  a 
flag  of  truce  and  go  talk  with  the  enemy  in  the  gate.  He 
may  not  change  his  own  views — Dale  was  conscious  of  no 
change  in  his — but  he  comes  to  see  how  other  people  may 
hold  different  ones,  and  the  reason,  or  anyhow  the  natural- 
ness, of  theirs.  A  man  of  .Roberts'  fierce  Puritan  temper 
could  not  feel  nor  appreciate  what  appealed  to  him  so 
strongly  in  such  a  life  as  they  lived,  for  instance,  at  the 
Grange.  It  had  a  beauty  so  its  own,  that  unquestioned 
superiority,  not  grasped  as  a  prize  or  valued  as  an  oppor- 
tunity, but  gravely  accepted  as  the  parent  of  duties — the 
unbroken  family  life,  grasping  through  many  hands  the 
torch  undimmed  from  reverend  antiquity — the  very  house, 
which  seemed  to  enshrine  honorable  traditions,  at  which  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  sneer.  The  sweetness  of  it  all 
broke  back  baffled  from  the  wall  of  the  doctor's  stern 
conviction  and  iron  determination.  Yet  how  sweet  it  all 
was!  And  these  people  welcomed  into  their  circle  any 
man  who  had  a  claim  to  welcome,  freely,  ungrudgingly, 
cordially.  All  they  asked  was  a  little  gentleness  to  their 
— he  supposed  they  were  prejudices — a  little  deference  to 
their  prepossessions,  a  little  smoothing  off  of  the  rougher 
edges  of  difference.  It  was  not  much  to  ask.  Was  he 
churlishly  to  deny  the  small  concession,  to  refuse  to  meet 
them  any  part  of  the  way,  to  intrench  himself  in  the  dog- 
matic intolerance  of  his  most  vehement  utterances,  to  shut 
his  mind  off  from  this  new  source  of  inspiration?  That  was 
what  Eoberts  wanted.     Well,  then — Roberts  be  hanged ! 

The  course  of  these  reflections  produced  in  Dale  a  re- 
turn to  his  usual  equanimity.  It  was  plainly  impossible 
to  please  everybody.  He  must  act  as  seemed  right  to  him- 
self, neglecting  the  frowns  of  unreasonable  grumblers.  No 
doubt  Roberts  was  devoted  to  him,  and  Arthur  Angell  too. 
Yet  Roberts  abused  him,  and  Arthur  bothered  him  with 
imploring  letters,  which  warned  him  against  the  subtle 
temptations  of  his  new  life.     It  was  a  curious  sort  of  de- 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  55 

votion  which  showed  itself  mainly  in  criticism  and  disap- 
proval; it  was  very  nattering  of  these  good  friends  to  set 
him  on  a  pedestal  and  require  him  to  live  up  to  the  posi- 
tion; only,  unfortunately,  the  pedestal  was  of  their  choos- 
ing, not  his.  All  he  asked  was  to  be  allowed  to  live  a 
quiet  life  and  work  out  his  own  idea  in  his  own  way.  If 
they  could  not  put  up  with  that,  why —  Dale  refilled  his 
pipe  and  opened  a  story  by  Maupassant. 

It  may  be  asserted  that  every  man  is  the  victim  of  a 
particular  sort  of  follies — the  follies  engendered  by  his 
particular  sort  of  surroundings;  they  make  a  fool's  circle 
within  which  each  of  us  has  a  foot  planted;  for  the  rest,  we 
may  be,  and  no  doubt  generally  are,  very  sensible  people. 
If  we  set  aside  Squire  Delane's  special  and  indigenous 
illusions,  he  was  very  far  indeed  from  a  fool,  and  after 
dinner  that  evening  he  treated  his  distinguished  guest  with 
no  small  tact.  The  young  man  was  beyond  question  a 
force;  was  it  outside  of  ingenuity  to  turn  him  in  a  better 
direction? 

"  Everybody  approves  of  your  letter,"  he  said.  "  Rob- 
erts had  no  business  to  drag  your  name  in." 

"  Of  course  one  is  exposed  to  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  It's  a  penalty-of  greatness.  But  the  case  is  peculiar 
when  you're  actually  living  in  the  place." 

' '  That's  exactly  what  I  feel.  It's  making  me  a  party 
in  a  local  quarter." 

"  That's  what  he  wanted  to  do;  he  wanted  to  fight 
under  your  shield." 

"  I  didn't  come  here  to  fight  at  all." 

"  I  should  think  not;  and  you  haven't  found  us  thirsting 
for  battle,  have  you?" 

"  I  have  found  a  kinder  welcome  than  I  had  any  right 
to  expect." 

"  My  dear  fellow!  Much  as  we  differ,  we're  all  proud 
of  counting  you  as  a  Denshire  man.  And  I  don't  suppose 
we  shall  quarrel  much  about  Denshire  affairs.  Oh,  I  know 
you  think  the  whole  system  of  the  country  life  an  in- 
iquity. I  don't  go  to  sleep  myself.  I  say,  there  it  is. 
Perhaps  it  might  be  changed,  but,  pending  that,  sensible 
men  can  work  together  to  make  the  best  of  it.  At  any 
rate,  they  can  avoid  treading  on  one  another's  corns." 

"  I  want  to  avoid  everybody's  corns,  if  they'll  avoid 
mine." 


56  A    CHANGE    OF    AIK. 

"  Well,  we'll  try.  I  dare  say  we  shall  pull  together.  At 
any  rate,  it's  very  pleasant  dining  together.  Shall  we  go 
upstairs  and  ask  Janet  for  a  song?" 

Mrs.  Delane  had  evidently  caught  her  cue  from  her  hus- 
band, and  she  treated  Dale  not  as  a  sinner  who  repenteth 
— a  mode  of  reception  which,  after  all,  requires  great  tact 
to  make  it  acceptable — but  as  one  who  had  never  been  a 
sinner  at  all.  She  asked  Dale  if  he  had  been  overwhelemd 
by  callers.  He  replied  that  he  had  not  suffered  much  in 
that  way. 

"  I  knew  it,"  she  said.  "  You  have  frightened  them, 
Mr.  Bannister;  they  think  you  came  in  search  of  studious 
retirement." 

"  Oh,  I  hate  both  study  and  retirement,  Mrs.  Delane." 

"  Well,  I  shall  tell  people  that — may  I?  Now,  when 
I  was  at  the  Cransfords'  yesterday — he's  our  lord  lieuten- 
ant, you  know — they  were  wondering  whether  they  might 
call." 

"lam  delighted  to  see  any  one." 

"From  the  mayor  upward — or,  I  suppose,  Hedger 
would  think  I  ought  to  say  downward.  We  heard  what 
fun  you  made  of  the  poor  man." 

"  Mr.  Bannister  will  be  more  respectful  to  the  lord  lieu- 
tenant," said  Janet,  smiling. 

"  I  suppose  I  disapprove  of  lord  lieutenants,"  remarked 
Dale,  with  a  laugh. 

"  You'll  like  Lady  Cransford  very  much,  and  she'll  like 
you.  She  gives  so  many  balls  that  a  bachelor  household  is 
a  godsend." 

"  Bannister  hardly  depends  on  that  for  a  welcome,  my 
dear,"  said  the  squire,  from  the  hearth-rug. 

"  Now  I  declare,  meeting  him  just  as  a  friend  like  this, 
I'm  always  forgetting  that  he's  a  famous  man." 

"  Please  go  on,  Mrs.  Delane.  It's  a  capital  exchange. 
But  when  are  you  going  to  give  me  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  at  Littlehill?" 

Mrs.  Delane  paused  for  just  a  second. 

"  I  should  like  to  visit  your  hermit's  cell.     But  I'm  so 
busy  just  now,  and  I  dare  say  you  are.     When  your  guests 
forsake  you,  perhaps  we  will  come  and  relieve  your  soli- 
tude.    Janet,  will  you  give  us  some  music?" 
,    Dale  followed  Janet  to  the  piano,  with  a  little  frown  on 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIE.  57 

his  brow.  Why  wouldn't  she  come  now?  Was  it — 
Janet's  voice  dispersed  the  frown  and  the  reflection. 

She  sung  a  couple  of  songs,  choosing  them  out  of  a 
book.  As  she  turned  over  the  leaves,  Dale  saw  that  some 
of  the  airs  were  set  to  words  of  his  own  writing.  When 
Janet  came  to  one  of  these,  she  turned  the  leaf  hastily. 
The  squire  had  gone  out,,  and  Mrs.  Delane,  with  the  privi- 
lege of  near  relationship,  was  absorbed  in  a  novel. 

"  Will  you  do  me  a  great  favor?"  he  said. 

"What,  Mr.  Bannister?" 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  you  sing  words  of  mine.  See, 
here  are  two  or  three." 

She  glanced  through  them;  then  she  shut  the  book  and 
made  as  though  to  rise. 

"  You  won't  do  it?" 

Janet  blushed  and  looked  troubled. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,  Mr.  Bannister;  but  I  can't  sing  those 
words.     I — I  don't  like  them. " 

"  I  am  sorry  they  are  so  bad,"  he  answered  in  an 
offended  tone. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  so  far  as  power  and — arid  beauty  goes, 
everything  in  the  book  is  trash  compared  to  them.  But  I 
can't  sing  them." 

"  I  won't  press  you." 

"  I  know  you  are  angry.  Please  don't  be  angry,  Mr. 
Bannister.    I  can't  do  what  I  think  wrong,  can  I?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  right  to  be  angry." 

"  There,  you  wouldn't  say  that  unless  you  were  angry. 
People  never  do." 

"  You  have  such  a  wretchedly  bad  opinion  of  me,  Miss 
Delane." 

"  Do  you  mind  that?" 

"You  know  I  do." 

"  Then  one  would  think  you  would  try  to  change  it." 

"  Ah,  how  can  I?" 

"  Write  something  I  should  delight  in  singing." 

"  If  I  do,  may  I  dedicate  it  to  you?" 

"  I'm  afraid  that  wouldn't  be  allowed." 

"  But  if  it  were  allowed,  would  you  allow  it?" 

"  You  know  how  proud  any  girl  would  be  of  it — of 
course  you  know." 

"  You  don't  do  justice  to  my  humility." 

"  Do  justice  to  yourself  first,  Mr.  Bannister." 


58  A    CHAKGE    OF    AIR. 

•  What  sort  of  songs  do  you  like?" 

"  Oh,  anything  honest  and  manly  and  patriotic  and — 
and  nice  in  feeling." 

"  A  catholic  taste — and  yet  none  of  mine  satisfy  it." 

"  I  will  not  be  quarreled  with,"  declared  Janet. 

"  My  only  wish  is  to  propitiate  you." 

"  Then  you  know  now  how  to  do  it." 

It  must  be  allowed  that  conversations  of  this  nature  have 
a  pleasantness  of  their  own,  and  Dale  left  the  Grange  with 
a  delightful  feeling  of  having  been  treated  as  he  ought  to 
be  treated.  He  found  Philip  Home  writing  and  smoking 
in  the  study. 

"  Well,  been  stroked  the  right  way,  old  man?"  asked 
Philip,  throwing  down  his  pen. 

Dale  helped  himself  to  his  whisky  and  soda  water  with- 
out replying. 

"  I've  been  having  a  talk  with  Nellie,"  pursued  Philip. 

"  What's  wrong  with  Nellie?" 

"  She's  got  some  notion  in  her  head  that  she  and  her 
mother  ought  to  go." 

Dale  was  lighting  a  cigar. 

"  Of  course  I  told  her  it  was  all  nonsense,  and  that  you 
meant  them  to  stay  as  long  as  they  liked.  She's  got  some 
maggot  in  her  head  about  propriety — all  nonsense,  when 
her  mother's  here." 

"  I  don't  want  them  to  go,  if  they  like  staying,"  said 
Dale. 

"  Well,  we  should  be  slow  without  Nellie,  shouldn't  we? 
You  must  blow  her  up  for  thinking  of  it.  She  only  wants 
to  be  persuaded." 

"  She  can  do  as  she  likes." 

"  You  don't  seem  very  enthusiastic  about  it,  one  way 
or  the  other." 

"  Well,  my  dear  Phil,  I  can't  be  expected  to  cry  at  the 
idea  of  little  Nellie  Fane  leaving  us." 

' '  Yet  you  made  rather  a  point  of  her  coming,  but  that 
was  two  months  ago." 

"  Really,  you  might  leave  Nellie  and  me  to  settle  it." 

"  What  I  told  her  was  right,  I  suppose?" 

"  Well,  you  don't  suppose  I  wanted  you  to  tell  her  to 
pack  up?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  want,  old  man,"  said  Philip, 
"  and  I  doubt  if  you  do." 


A    CHANGE    OF   AIB.  59 


CHAPTEK   X. 

A  PREJUDICED  YEEDICT. 

It  has  been  contumeliously  said  by  insolent  Englishmen 
— a  part  of  our  population  which  may  sometimes  seem  to 
foreign  eyes  as  large  as  the  whole — that  you  might  put  any 
other  of  the  world's  capitals,  say  Paris  or  New  York,  down 
in  London,  and  your  cabman  would  not  be  able  to  find  it. 
However  this  may  be — and  there  is  no  need  in  this  place 
either  for  assertions  or  admissions — it  is  certain  that  you 
might  unload  a  wagonful  of  talents  in  Piccadilly,  and  they 
would  speedily  be  absorbed  and  leave  little  obvious  trace 
of  the  new  ingredient.  Hence  the  advantage,  for  a  man 
who  does  not  dislike  the  digito  monstrari  et  dicier  "  hie 
est,"  of  dwelling  in  small  places,  and  hence,  a  cynic  might 
suggest,  the  craving  for  quieter  quarters  displayed  by  some 
of  our  less  conspicuous  celebrities.  It  is  better,  says  a 
certain  authority,  to  reign  in  hell  than  serve  in  heaven; 
and  a  man  may  grow  weary  of  walking  unrecognized  down 
the  Strand,  when  he  has  only,  to  be  the  beheld  of  all  be- 
holders, to  take  up  his  residence  in — perhaps  it  will  be 
more  prudent  to  say  Market  Denborough,  and  not  point 
the  finger  of  printed  scorn  at  any  better  known  resort. 

This  very  ungenerous  explanation  was  the  one  which 
Miss  Victoria  Smith  chose  to  adopt  as  accounting  for  Dale 
Bannister's  coming  to  Littlehill.  Such  an  idea  had  never 
crossed  her  mind  at  first,  but  it  became  evident  that  a  man 
who  could  leave  his  friend  in  the  lurch  and  palter  with  his 
principles,  as  Dale's  letter  to  the  Chronicle  showed  him 
to  be  doing,  could  only  be  credited  with  any  discoverable 
motive  less  bad  and  contemptible  than  the  worst  through 
mere  hastiness  and  ill-considered  good  nature.  For  her 
part,  she  liked  a  man  to  stick  to  his  colors  and  to  his 
friends,  and  not  be  ashamed  before  the  tea-tables  of  Den- 
shire. No,  she  had  never  read  his  poems,  she  had  no  time, 
but  papa  had,  and  agreed  with  every  word  of  them. 

"  Gad!  does  he?"  said  Sir  Henry  Fulmer,  to  whom 
these  views  were  expressed.     "  Well  played  the  colonel  1" 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Well,  some  of  them  made  me  sit  up  rather,"  re- 
marked Sir  Harry. 


60  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  Oh,  anything  would  make  you  '  sit  up/  as  you  call  it. 
I  don't  consider  you  a  Radical." 

"  I  voted  for  your  friend,  the  doctor,  anyhow." 

"  Yes,  that  was  good  of  you.  You  were  the  only  one 
with  an  elementary  sense  of  justice." 

Sir  Harry's  sense  of  justice,  elementary  or  other,  had 
had  very  little  to  do  with  his  vote,  but  he  said  with  honest 
pride : 

"  Somebody  ought  to  stand  by  a  fellow  when  he's  down. " 

"  Especially  when  he's  in  the  right." 

ct  Well,  I  don't  quite  see,  Miss  Smith,  what  business  it 
was  of  Roberts'  to  cut  up  the  vicar's  sermon.  Naturally 
the  vicar  doesn't  like  it." 

"  So  he  takes  his  medicine  from  Doctor  Spink!" 

"  Rather  awkward  for  him  to  have  Roberts  about  the 
place." 

"  Oh,  of  course  you  defend  him." 

"  The  vicar's  a  very  good  fellow,  though  he's  a  Tory." 

"  You  seem  to  think  all  Tories  good  fellows." 

"  So  they  are,  most  of  them." 

"  I  suppose  you  think  Mr.  Bannister's  right  too?" 

<(  I  shouldn't  be  so  down  on  him  as  you  are." 

"  You  like  people  who  lead  their  friends  on  and  then 
forsake  them?" 

"  Bannister  never  asked  him  to  write  the  letter. " 

"  Well,  it's  not  my  idea  of  friendship.  I  wouldn't  have 
a  friend  who  thought  that  conduct  right." 

"  Then  I  think  it  deuced  wrong,"  said  Sir  Harry, 
promptly. 

"  It's  no  compliment  to  a  woman  to  treat  her  like  a 
baby,"  remarked  Tora,  with  dignity. 

Sir  Harry  perceived  that  it  would  be  to  his  advantage  to 
change  the  subject. 

' i  Are  you  going  skating?"  he  asked.  "There's  noth- 
ing else  to  do  in  this  beastly  frost." 

"  Does  the  ice  bear?" 

"  Yes;  they're  skating  on  the  Grange  lake.  I  met 
Hume,  Bannister's  friend,  and  he  told  me  Bannister  was 
there." 

"  Wasn't  he  going?    I  rather  like  him." 

"No;  he  was  walking  with  Miss  Fane.  I  believe  I 
rather  put  my  foot  in  it  by  asking  her  if  she  wasn't  going." 

"  Why  shouldn't  you?" 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  61 

"  She  said  she  didn't  know  Mrs.  Delane,  and  looked 
confused,  don't  you  know." 

"  Hasn't  Mrs.  Delane  called?" 

"  It  seems  not,"  said  Sir  Harry. 

"  I  wonder  how  long  they  are  going  to  stay  at  Little- 
hill?" 

i(  Forever,  apparently.     Shall  you  come  to  the  lake?" 

"  Perhaps  in  the  afternoon." 

Tora  returned  to  the  house,  still  wondering.  She  was 
very  angry  with  Dale,  and  prepared  to  think  no  good  of 
him.  Was  it  possible  that  she  and  the  colonel  had  been 
hasty  in  stretching  out  the  hand  of  welcome  to  Mrs.  Hodge 
and  her  daughter?  For  all  her  independence,  Tora  liked 
to  have  Mrs.  Delane' s  imprimatur  on  the  women  of  her 
acquaintance.  She  thought  she  would  have  a  word  with 
the  colonel,  and  went  to  seek  him  in  his  study.  He  was 
not  there,  but  it  chanced  that  there  lay  on  the  table  a  copy 
of  Dale's  first  published  volume,  "  The  Clarion."  Three- 
quarters  of  the  little  book  were  occupied  with  verses  on 
matters  of  a  more  or  less  public  description — beliefs  past 
and  future,  revolutions  effected  and  prayed  for,  and  so 
forth;  the  leaves  bore  marks  of  use,  and  evidently  were 
often  turned  by  the  colonel.  But  bound  up  with  them 
was  a  little  sheaf  of  verses  of  an  amatory  character;  where 
these  began,  the  colonel's  interest  appeared  to  cease,  for 
the  pages  were  uncut;  he  had  only  got  as  far  as  the  title. 
It  was  not  so  with  his  daughter.  Having  an  idle  hour  and 
some  interest  in  the  matters  and  affairs  of  love,  she  took  a 
paper-knife  and  sat  down  to  read.  Poets  are,  by  ancient 
privilege,  legibus  soluti,  and  Dale  certainly  reveled  in  his 
freedom.  Still,  perhaps  the  verses  were  not  in  reality 
so  very,  very  atrocious  "as  they  unhappily  appeared  to  the 
young  lady  who  now  read  them.  Tora  was  accustomed  to 
consider  herself  almost  a  revolutionary  spirit,  and  her 
neighbors,  half  in  earnest,  half  in  joke,  encouraged  the 
idea;  but  her  revolutions  were  to  be  very  strictly  confined, 
and  the  limits  of  her  free  thought  were  marked  out  by 
most  unyielding  metes  and  bounds — bounds  that  stopped 
very  short  at  the  church  door  and  on  the  domestic  thresh- 
old. This  frame  of  mind  is  too  common  to  excite  com- 
ment, and  it  had  been  intensified  in  her  by  the  social  sur- 
roundings against  which  she  was  in  mock  revolt.  Dale's 
freedom  knew  no  trammels,  or  had  known  none  when  he 


62  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

wrote  "  The  Clarion;"  nothing  was  sacred  to  him  except 
truth,  everything  as  nothing  beside  reason,  reason  the  hand- 
maid of  passion,  wherein  the  spirit  and  individuality  of 
each  man  found  their  rightful  expression.  This  theory, 
embodied  in  a  poet's  fancy  and  enlivened  by  a  young  man's 
ardor,  made  fine  verses,  but  verses  which  startled  Tora 
Smith.  She  read  for  half  an  hour,  and  then,  flinging  the 
book  down  and  drawing  a  long  breath,  exclaimed:  "  I  can 
believe  anything  of  him  now!" 

And  she  had  had  this  man  to  dinner!  And  that  girl! 
Who  was  that  girl? 

The  colonel  came  home  to  luncheon  in  very  good  spirits. 
He  had.  just  succeeded,  in  the  interests  of  freedom,  in  stir- 
ring up  a  spirit  of  active  revolt  in  Alderman  Johnstone. 
The  alderman  had  hitherto,  like  his  father  before  him, 
occupied  his  extensive  premises  on  a  weekly  tenancy;  he 
had  never  been  threatened  with  molestation  or  eviction; 
but  he  felt  that  he  existed  on  sufferance,  and  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  precarious  position  had  been  irksome  to  him. 
A  moment  had  come  when  the  demand  for  houses  was 
slack,  when  two  or  three  were  empty,  and  when  the  build- 
ing trade  itself  was  nearly  at  a  standstill.  The  colonel  had 
incited  Johnstone  to  seize  the  opportunity  to  ask  from  the 
squire  a  lease,  and  Johnstone  had  promised  to  take  noth- 
ing less  than  "  seven,  fourteen,  or  twenty-one."  If  re- 
fused, he  declared  he  would  surrender  the  premises  and 
build  for  himself  on  some  land  of  the  colonel's  just  outside 
the  town. 

"  Delane  must  grant  it,"  said  the  colonel,  rubbing  his 
hands,  "  and  then  we  shall  have  one  house,  anyhow,  where 
our  bills  can  be  put  up.  Bannister  will  be  delighted.  By 
the  way,  Tora,  he  wants  us  to  go  in  to  tea  to-day  after 
skating.     I  suppose  you're  going  to  skate?" 

"I  am  going  to  skate,  but  I  am  not  going  to  Mr.  Ban- 
nister's," said  Tora,  coldly. 

"  Why  not?" 

The  colonel  was  told  why  not  with  explicitness  and 
vehemence.  He  tugged  his  white  whisker  in  some  per- 
plexity; he  did  not  mind  much  about  the  poems,  though, 
of  course,  no  excess  of  scrupulousness  could  be  too  great  in 
a  girl  like  Tora;  but  if  she  were  right  about  the  other 
affair!    That  must  be  looked  into. 

The  colonel  was  one  of  those  people  who  pride  them- 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  63 

selves  on  tact  and  savoir  faire ;  he  aggravated  this  fault 
by  believing  that  tact  and  candor  could  be  combined  in  a 
happy  union,  and  he  determined  to  try  the  effect  of  the 
mixture  on  Dale  Bannister.  It  would  go  hard  if  he  did 
not  destroy  this  mare's  nest  of  Tora's. 

All  the  neighborhood  was  skating  on  the  Grange  lake 
under  a  winter  sun,  whose  ruddy  rays  tinged  the  naked 
trees,  and  drew  an  answering  glitter  from  the  diamond- 
paned  windows  of  the  house.  The  reeds  were  motionless, 
and  the  graze  of  skaters  on  the  ice  sounded  sharp  in  the 
still  air,  and  struck  the  ear  through  the  swishing  of  birch 
brooms  and  the  shuffle  of  sweepers'  feet.  From  time  to 
time  a  sudden  thud  and  a  peal  of  laughter  following  told 
of  disaster,  or  there  grated  across  the  lake  a  chair,  carry- 
ing one  who  preferred  the  conquest  of  men  to  the  science 
of  equilibrium.  Rosy  cheeks  glowed,  nimble  feet  sped, 
and  lissom  figures  swayed  to  and  fro  as  they  glided  over 
the  shining  surface,  till  even  the  old  and  the  stout,  the 
cripples  and  the  fox-hunters,  felt  the  glow  of  life  tingling 
in  their  veins,  and  the  beauty  of  the  world  feeding  their 
spirits  with  fresh  desire.  "It  is  not  all  of  life  to  live," 
but,  at  such  a  moment,  it  is  the  best  part  of  it. 

Dale  Bannister  was  enjoying  himself;  he  was  a  good 
skater,  and  it  gave  him  pleasure  that,  when  people  turned 
to  look  at  the  famous  poet,  they  should  see  an  athletic 
youth:  only  he  wished  that  Janet  Delane  would  give  him 
an  opportunity  of  offering  his  escort,  and  not  appear  so 
contented  with  the  company  of  a  tall  man  of  military  bear- 
ing, who  had  come  down  to  the  water  with  the  Grange 
party.  He  was  told  that  the  new-comer  was  Captain  Rip- 
ley, Lord  Cransford's  eldest  son,  and  he  did  not  escape 
without  witnessing  some  of  the  nods  and  becks  which,  in 
the  country,  where  everybody  knows  everybody,  accom- 
pany the  most  incipient  stages  of  a  supposed  love  affair. 
Feeling,  under  these  circumstances,  a  little  desolate,  for 
Philip  was  engrossed  in  figures  and  would  not  waste  his 
time  talking,  he  saw  with  pleasure  Tora  Smith  and  Sir 
Harry  coming  toward  him.  He  went  to  meet  them,  and 
at  a  distance  of  a  few  yards  from  them,  slackened  his  pace 
and  lifted  his  hat,  not  doubting  of  friendly  recognition. 
Sir  Harry  returned  his  salute  with  a  cheery  "How  are 
you?"  but  did  not  stop,  for  Tora  swept  on  past  Dale 
Bannister,  without  a  glance  at    him.      In    surprise,  he 


64  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

paused.  "  She  must  have  seen  me/' lie  thought,  "  but 
why  in  the  world—"  Bent  on  being  sure,  he  put  himself 
right  in  her  path  as  she  completed  the  circle  and  met  him 
again.  There  was  no  mistaking  her  intention;  she  gave 
him  the  cut  direct,  as  clearly  and  as  resolutely  as  ever  it 
was  given. 

Sir  Harry  had  remonstrated  in  vain.  In  Toras  uncom- 
promising mind  impulse  did  not  wait  on  counsel,  and  her 
peremptory  "  I  have  my  reasons,"  refused  all  information 
and  prevented  all  persuasion.  He  felt  he  had  done  enough 
for  friendship  when  he  braved  her  disapproval  by  declining 
to  follow  her  example.  He  did  not  pretend  to  understand 
the  ways  of  women,  and  Dale  Bannister  might  fight  his 
own  battles. 

While  Dale  was  yet  standing  in  angry  bewilderment— for 
who  had  received  him  with  more  cordiality  than  she  who 
now  openly  insulted  him?— he  saw  the  colonel  hobbling 
toward  him  across  the  slippery  expanse.  The  colonel  fell 
once,  and  Dale  heard  him  swear  testily  at  the  sweeper  who 
helped  him  to  rise.  He  thought  it  kind  to  meet  him  half- 
way; perhaps  the  colonel  would  explain.  The  colonel  was 
most  ready  to  do  so;  in  fact,  he  had  come  for  the  very 
purpose  of  warning  Bannister  that  some  silly  idea  was 
afloat,  which  it  only  needed  a  word  to  scatter. 

"  Is  there?"  said  Dale.  "  Possibly  that  is  why  Miss 
Smith  failed  to  see  me  twice  just  now?" 

"Your  poems  have  shocked  her,  my  boy,"  said  the 
colonel,  with  a  knowing  look — the  look  that  represented 
tact  and  savoir  faire. 

"  Is  that  all?  She  takes  rather  severe  measures,  doesn't 
she?" 

"Well,"  answered  the  colonel,  with  the  smile  which 
brought  candor  into  play,  "  that  isn't  quite  all." 

"  What  in  the  world  else  is  there?" 

"  You  know  how  censorious  people  are,  and  how  a  girl 
takes  alarm  at  the  very  idea  of  anything — you  know?" 

Dale  chafed  at  these  diplomatic  approaches. 

"  If  there's  anything  said  against  me,  pray  let  me 
know." 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  very  definite,"  said  the  colonel,  un- 
easily. He  did  not  find  what  he  had  to  say  so  simple  as  it 
had  seemed. 

"  Indefinite  things  are  most  hopeless." 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  65 

"  Yes,  yes,  quite  so.  Well,  if  you  really  wish  it — if  you 
won't  be  offended.     No  doubt  it's  all  a  mistake." 

4i  What  do  they  say?" 

"  Well,  we're  men  of  the  world,  Bannister.  The  fact 
is,  people  don't  quite  understand  your — your  household." 

"  My  household?  It  consists  of  myself  alone  and  the 
servants." 

"  Of  course,  my  dear  fellow,  of  course!  I  knew  it  was 
so,  but  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  say  so  on  your  own  author- 
ity." 

The  aim  of  speech  is,  after  all,  only  to  convey  ideas;  the 
colonel  had  managed,  however  clumsily,  to  convey  his 
idea.     Dale  frowned,  and  pretended  to  laugh. 

"  How  absurd!"  he  said.  "  I  should  resent  it  if  it  were 
not  too  absurd." 

"  I'm  sure,  Bannister,  you'll  acquit  me  of  any  med- 
bling." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I'm  sorry  my  guests  have  given  rise,  however 
innocently,  to  such  talk." 

"  It's  most  unfortunate.  I'm  sure  nothing  more  is 
needed.     1  hope  the  ladies  are  well?" 

"Yes,  thanks." 

"  I  don't  see  them  here." 

"  No,  they're  not  here,"  answered  Dale,  frowning  again. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  see  some  more  of  them?" 

"  You're  very  kind.  I — I  don't  suppose  they — will  be 
stajdng  much  longer." 

As  Dale  made  his  way  to  the  bank  to  take  off  his  skates, 
Janet  and  Tora  passed  him  together.  Tora  kept  her  eyes 
rigidly  fixed  on  the  chimneys  of  the  Grange.  He  made  no 
sign  of  expecting  recognition,  but  Janet,  as  she  drew  near, 
looked  at  him,  blushing  red,  and  bowed  and  smiled. 

"  That  girl's  a  trump,"  said  Dale  Bannister.  "  She 
sticks  to  her  friends." 


[CHAPTER  XL 

A   FABLE   ABOUT  BIRDS. 

Mrs.  Hodge  and  Nellie,  being  left  to  their  own  re- 
sources, had  employed  the  afternoon  in  paying  a  visit  to 
Ethel  Roberts,  and  nothing  was  wanting  to  fill  Dale's  cup 
of  vexation  to  overflowing,  unless  it  were  to  have  Nellie 
flying  open-mouthed  at  him,  as  he  grumblingly  expressed 


66  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

it,  with  a  tale  of  the  distress  in  the  doctor's  household. 
Ethel  Roberts  had  the  fortitude  to  bear  her  troubles,  the 
added  fortitude  to  bear  them  cheerfully,  but  not  the  su- 
preme fortitude  which  refuses  to  tell  a  tale  of  woe  to  any 
ear,  however  sympathetic.  She  did  not  volunteer  infor- 
mation, but  she  did  allow  it  to  be  dragged  out  of  her,  and 
the  barriers  of  her  reserve  broke  down  before  Mrs. 
Hodge's  homely  consolations  and  Nellie's  sorrowful  hor- 
ror. They  were  reduced,  she  admitted,  in  effect  to  living 
on  little  else  than  her  own  wretched  income;  the  practice 
brought  in  hardly  more  than  it  took  out,  for,  while  the 
rich  patients  failed,  the  poor  remained;  the  rent  was  over- 
due, bills  were  unpaid,  and  the  butcher,  the  milkman,  and 
the  coal  merchant  were  growing  sulky. 

"And  while,"  said  Mrs.  Hodge,  "that  poor  young 
creature  is  pinching,  and  starving,  and  crying,  the  man's 
thinking  of  nothing  but  Nihilists  and  what  not.  I'd  Nihi- 
list him!" 

Dinner  was  served  to  Dale  with  sauce  of  this  sort. 

"  Can  I  prevent  fools  suffering  for  their  folly?"  he 
asked. 

"  The  baby  looks  so  ill,"  said  Nellie,  "  and  Mrs.  Rob- 
erts is  worn  to  a  shadow." 

"  Did  you  see  Roberts?"  asked  Philip. 

"For  a  minute,"  said  Nellie;  "but  he  was  very  cold 
and  disagreeable." 

"  Thought  j^ouwere  tarred  with  the  same  brush  as  Dale, 
I  suppose?" 

"  Can't  you  do  anything  for  'em,  Dale?"  asked  Mrs. 
Hodge. 

"  I  can  send  him  a  check." 

"  He'll  send  it  back,"  remarked  Philip. 

"  I  wish  he'd  get  out  of  the  place." 

"  Yes,  he  might  as  well  be  miserable  somewhere  else, 
mightn:t  he?" 

Dale  glared  at  his  friend,  and  relapsed  into  silence. 
Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  Philip's  prediction,  he  sat  down 
after  dinner  and  wrote  to  Roberts,  saying  that  he  had 
heard  that  he  was  in  temporary  embarrassment,  and  urging 
him  to  allow  Dale  to  be  his  banker  for  the  moment;  this 
would,  Dale  added,  be  the  best  way  of  showing  that  he  bore 
no  malice  for  Dale's  letter.  He  sent  a  man  with  the  note, 
ordering  him  to  wait  for  an  answer. 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  67 

The  answer  was  not  long  in  coming;  the  man  was  back 
in  half  an  hour,  bringing  the  doctor's  reply: 

"  Three  months  ago  I  should  have  thought  it  an  honor 
to  share  my  last  crust  with  you,  and  no  shame  to  ask  half 
of  all  you  had.  Now  I  will  not  touch  a  farthing  of  your 
money  un  til  you  come  back  to  us.  If  your  friends  pay 
my  wife  further  visits,  I  shall  be  obliged  if  they  will  look 
somewhat  less  keenly  at  my  household  arrangements. 

"  James  Roberts." 

"There  is  the  snub  you  have  brought  on  me!"  ex- 
claimed Dale,  angrily,  flinging  the  letter  to  Nellie.  "  I 
might  have  known  better  than  to  listen  to  your  stories.-" 

"  Dale,  Dale,  it  was  every  word  true.  How  selfish  he  is 
not  to  think  of  his  wife!" 

"  Many  people  are  selfish."  . 

"  Is  anything  the  matter,  Dale?" 

"  Oh,  Fm  infernally  worried.     I  never  get  any  peace." 

"  Hadn't  you  a  good  time  skating?" 

"  No.     I'm  beginning  to  hate  this  place." 

"  Oh,  Dale,  I've  enjoyed  my  visit  so  much!" 

"  Very  glad  to  hear  it,  I'm  sure." 

"  You  must  have  seen  it;  we've  stayed  so  long.  I've 
often  told  mamma  we  ought  to  be  going." 

Dale  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"  Indeed  we  have  had  no  mercy  on  you,  Dale;  but  the 
country  and  the  rest  are  so  delightful." 

"  Hum — in  some  ways." 

"  But  I  must  be  back  at  work.  Mamma  thought  next 
Saturday  would  do." 

"  As  soon  as  that?"  said  Dale,  with  polite  surprise. 

"  Think  how  long  we  have  been  here." 

"  Oh,  don't  go  on  Saturday!" 

Nellie's  face  brightened. 

"  Don't  you  want  us  to?"  she  asked,  with  an  eager  little 
smile.     Dale  was  going  to  be  kind,  after  all. 

"  No.     Why  shouldn't  you  stay  till  Monday?" 

The  face  fell,  the  smile  disappeared;  but  she  answered, 
saving  her  self-respect : 

"  Saturday  is  more  convenient  for — for  arriving  in  town. 
I  think  we  had  better  fix  Saturday,  Dale." 

"  As  you  like.     Sorry  to  lose  you,  Nell." 

He  sauntered  off  to  the  smoking-room  to  join  Philip. 


68  A    CHANGE    OF    AIK. 

When  Philip  came  into  the  drawing-room  half  an  hour 
later  in  search  of  a  book,  he  found  Nellie  sitting  before  the 
fire.  He  took  his  stand  on  the  hearth-rug,  and  looked 
steadily  down  on  her. 

"  Once  upon  a  time/'  he  said,  "  there  was  a  very  beauti- 
ful bird  who,  as  it  chanced,  grew  up  with  a  lot  of  crows. 
For  a  long  while  he  liked  the  crows,  and  the  crows  liked 
him — very  much,  some  of  them.  Both  he  and  the  crows 
were  pleased  when  the  eagles  and  all  the  swell  birds  ad- 
mired him,  and  said  nice  things  about  him,  and  wanted  to 
know  him — and  the  crows  who  liked  him  most  were  most 
pleased.  Presently  he  did  come  to  know  the  eagles  and 
the  other  swell  birds,  and  he  liked  them  very  much,  and 
he  began  to  get  a  little  tired  of  the  old  crows,  and  by  and 
by  he  left  their  company  a  good  deal.  He  was  a  polite 
bird  and  a  kind  bird,  and  never  told  them  that  he  didn't 
want  them  any  more.     But  they  saw  he  didn't. " 

There  was  a  little  sob  from  the  arm-chair. 

"  Whereupon  some  of  them  broke  their  hearts,  and 
others — didn't.     The  others  were  wisest,  Nellie." 

He  paused,  gazing  down  at  the  distressful  little  heap  of 
crumpled  drapery  and  roughened  gleaming  hair. 

"  Much  wisest.  He  was  not  a  bad  bird  as  birds  go — but 
not  a  bird  to  break  one's  heart  about,  Nellie;  what  birdi  s?" 

There  was  another  sob.  Philip  looked  despairingly  at 
the  ceiling,  and  exclaimed  under  his  breath: 

"  I  wish  to  God  she  wouldn't  cry!" 

He  took  his  book  from  the  mantel-piece  where  he  had 
laid  it,  and  moved  toward  the  door.  But  he  came  back 
again,  unable  to  leave  her  like  that,  and  walked  restlessly 
about  the  room,  stopping  every  now  and  then  to  stand  over 
her,  aud  wonder  what  he  could  do. 

Presently  he  took  a  feverish  little  hand  in  his,  and 
pressed  it  as  it  lay  limp  there. 

"  The  old  crows  stood  by  one  another,  Nellie,"  he  said; 
and  he  thought  he  felt  a  sudden  grip  of  his  hand,  coming 
and  timidly  in  an  instant  going. 

It  seemed  to  comfort  her  to  hold  Ins  hand.  The  sobs 
ceased,  and  presently  she  looked  up  and  said,  with  a  smile: 

"  I  always  used  to  cry  at  going  back  to  school." 

"  Going  back  to  work,"  said  Philip,  "  is  one  of  the  few 
things  in  the  world  really  worth  crying  about." 

"  Yes,  isn't  it?"  she  said,  unblushingly,  availing  herself 


A    CHANGE    OP    AIR.  69 

of  the  shelter  of  his  affected  cynicism.  She  was  afraid  he 
might  go  on  talking  about  crows,  a  topic  which  had  been 
all  very  well,  and  even  a  little  comforting,  when  she  was 
hidden  among  the  cushions,  but  would  not  do  now. 

"  And  London  is  so  horrid  in  winter/'  she  continued. 
"  Are  you  going  back  soon?" 

"  Oh,  I  shall  wait  a  little  and  look  after  Dale." 

11  Dale  never  tells  one  what  is  happening." 

"  I'll  keep  you  posted,  in  case  there's  a  revolution  in 
Denborough,  or  anything  of  that  sort." 

A  step  was  heard  outside.  With  a  sudden  bound  Nellie 
reached  the  piano,  sat  down,  and  began  to  play  a  lively  air. 
Dale  came  in,  looking  suspiciously  at  the  pair. 

"  I  thought  you'd  "gone  to  bed,  Nellie." 

"  Just  going.     Mr.  Hume  and  1  have  been  talking." 

"  About  the  affairs  of  the  nation,"  said  Philip. 

"  But  I'm  off  now.     Good-night,  Dale." 

Dale  looked  closely  at  her. 

"  What  are  your  eyes  red  for?    Have  you  been  crying?" 

"  Crying,  Dale?  What  nonsense!  I've  been  roasting 
them  before  the  fire,  that's  all;  and  if  they  are  red,  it's 
not  polite  to  say  so,  is  it,  Mr.  Hume?" 

"  Eightly  understood,  criticism  is  a  compliment,  as  the 
reviewers  say  when  they  slate  you,"  remarked  Philip. 
"  He  might  not  have  noticed  your  eyes  at  all." 

"  Inconceivable,"  said  Dale,  politely,  for  he  was  feeling 
very  kindly  disposed  to  this  pretty  girl,  who  came  when  he 
wanted  her,  and  went  when — well,  after  a  reasonably  long 
visit. 

"  Good -night,  Dale.  I'm  so  sorry  about — Mr.  Roberts, 
you  know." 

Dale,  having  no  further  use  for  this  grievance,  was 
graciously  pleased  to  let  it  be  forgotten. 

"  Oh,  you  couldn't  know  he'd  be  such  a  brute.  Good- 
night, Nellie." 

The  two  men  returned  to  the  smoking-room.  Philip, 
looking  for  a  piece  of  paper  wherewith  to  light  his  pipe, 
happened  to  notice  a  little  bundle  of  proof-sheets  lying  on 
the  table. 

"  Ah,  the  spring  bubbling  again?"  he  asked. 

Dale  nodded. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  how  are  the  rest  of  us  to  get  our 
masterpieces  noticed?    You  are  a  monopolist." 


70  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  It's  only  a  little  volume." 

"  What's  it  about?    May  I  look?" 

"  Oh,  if  you  like/'  answered  Dale,  carelessly;  but  he 
kept  his  eyes  on  his  friend. 

Philip  took  up  the  first  sheet,  and  read  the  title-page; 
he  smiled,  and,  turning  over,  came  to  the  dedication. 

"  You  call  it  '  Amor  Patriae  '?" 

"  Yes.     Do  you  like  the  title?" 

*'  Hum!    There  was  no  thought  of  pleasing  me  when  it 
was  christened,  I  presume.     And  you  dedicate  it — " 

"  Oh,  is  that  there?" 

"  Yes,  that's  there—'  To  her  that  shall  le  named  here- 
after.'" 

Dale  poked  the  fire  before  he  answered. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that's  the  dedication." 

"  So  I  see.  Well,  I  hope  she'll  like  them.  It  is  an  en- 
viable privilege  to  confer  immortality." 

"  Fll  confer  it  on  you,  if  you  like." 

"  Yes,  do.  It  will  be  less  trouble  than  getting  it  for 
myself." 

"  Under  the  title  of  '  The  Snarler.'  " 

Philip  stood  on  the  hearth-rug  and  warmed  himself. 

"My  dear  Dale,"  he  said,  "1  do  not  snarl.  A.  wise 
author  pleases  each  section  of  the  public  in  turn.  Hither- 
to you  have  pleased  me  and  my  kind,  and  Eoberts  and  his 
kind,  and  Arthur  Angell  and  his  kind — who  are,  by  the 
way,  not  worth  pleasing,  for  they  expect  presentation  copies. 
Now,  in  this  new  work,  which  is,  1  understand,  your  trib- 
ute to  the  nation  which  has  the  honor  to  bear  you,  you  will 
please — "     He  paused. 

"  I  always  write  to  please  myself,"  said  Dale. 

"  Yourself,"  continued  Philip,  "this  mysterious  lady, 
and,  I  think  we  may  add,  the  mayor  of  Market  Denbor- 
ough." 

"  Go  to  the  devil!"  said  the  poet. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  DEDICATION — AND  A   DESECEATION. 

A  eew  weeks  later  the  mayor  stood  at  his  door  one 
bright  morning  in  January,  holding  a  parley  with  Alder- 
man Johnstone. 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIK.  71 

"  I  dessay,  now,"  said  the  mayor,  "  that  you  ain't  been 
in  the  way  of  seein'  the  squire  lately?' ' 

"  I  see  him  last  when  he  signed  my  lease/'  answered  the 
alderman,  with  a  grim  smile,  "  and  that's  a  month  come 
to-morrow." 

"  I  had  a  conversation  with  him  yesterday,  and  after 
touchhr  on  the  matter  of  that  last  pavin'  contract — he'd 
heard  o'  your  son-in-law  gettin'  it,  Johnstone — he  got 
talkin'  about  Mr.  Bannister." 

"  Ay?  did  he?" 

"  And  about  his  noo  book.  e  It's  a  blessm','  he  says, 
'  to  see  a  young  man  of  such  promise  shakin'  himself  from 
of  that  pestilential  trash.'  He  meant  your  opinions  by 
that,  Johnstone." 

"  Supposing  'e  did,  what  then?  I  don't  label  my  opin- 
ions to  please  the  customers,  like  as  some  do  their  physic." 

The  mayor  was  not  in  a  fighting  mood;  his  mind  was 
busy  with  speculations,  and  he  ignored  the  challenge. 

"  Queer  start  Mr.  Bannister  showin'  up  at  the  church 
bazaar,  eh?  Spent  a  heap  o'  money,  too.  I  met  Mr. 
Hume,  and  asked  him  about  it,  and  he  said — " 

"  It  wa'n't  no  business  o'  yours,  didn't  he?" 
,   "  Mr.  Hume — he's  a  gentleman,  Johnstone,"  remarked 
the  mayor,  in  grave  rebuke. 

"  Well,  what  did  'e  say?" 

"  That  where  the  carcass  was,  the  eagles  'ud  be  gathered 
together." 

Mr.  Johnstone  smiled  a  smile  of  pity  for  the  mayor's 
density. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  suppose  he  meant?"  asked  the 
mayor,  in  reply  to  the  smile. 

"  Where  the  gells  is,  the  lads  is,"  said  the  alderman, 
with  a  wink,  as  he  passed  on  his  way. 

This  most  natural,  reasonable,  and  charitable  explana- 
tion of  Dale's  conduct  in  identifying  himself  with  the 
vicar's  pastoral  labors  had,  oddly  enough,  suggested  itself 
to  no  one  else,  unless  it  might  be  to  Captain  Gerard  Rip- 
ley. His  presence  had  been  hailed  on  the  one  side,  and 
anathematized  on  the  other,  as  an  outward  sign  of  an  in- 
ward conversion,  and  his  lavish  expenditure  had  been  set 
down  to  a  repentant  spirit  rather  than  a  desire  to  gratify 
any  particular  stall -holder.  The  vicar  had  just  read 
"Amor  Patriae,"  and  he  remarked  to  every  one  he  met 


72  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

that  the  transition  from  an  appreciation  of  the  national 
greatness  to  an  adhesion  to  the  national  church  was  but  a 
short  step. 

Unhappily,  in  a  moment  of  absence,  he  chanced  to  say 
so  to  Colonel  Smith,  who  was  at  the  bazaar  for  the  pur- 
pose of  demonstrating  his  indifferent  impartiality  toward 
all  religious  sects. 

"  You  might  as  well  say,"  answered  the  colonel,  in 
scorn,  "  that  because  a  man  stands  by  the  regiment  he's 
bound  to  be  thick  with  the  chaplain." 

Captain  Ripley  alone,  with  the  penetration  born  of  jeal- 
ousy, attributed  Dale's  presence  simply  and  solely  to  the 
same  motive  as  had  produced  his  own,  to  wit,  a  desire  to 
be  where  Miss  Delane  was.  The  captain  was  a  little  sore; 
he  had  known  Janet  from  childhood,  they  had  exchanged 
many  children's  vows,  and  when  he  was  sixteen  and  she 
thirteen  she  had  accepted  a  Twelfth  Night  cake  ring  from 
him.  The  flirtation  had  always  proceeded  in  its  gentle, 
ambling  course,  and  the  captain  had  returned  on  long 
leave  with  the  idea  that  it  was  time  to  put  the  natural  ter- 
mination in  the  way  of  being  reached.  Janet  disappointed 
him;  she  ridiculed  his  tender  references  to  by-gone  days, 
characterizing  what  had  passed  as  boy-and-girl  nonsense, 
and  perseveringly  kept  their  intercourse  on  a  dull  level  of 
friendliness.  On  the  other  hand,  whatever  might  be  the 
nature  of  her  acquaintance  with  Dale  Bannister,  it  was  at 
least  clear  that  it  was  marked  by  no  such  uneventful  mo- 
notony. Sometimes  she  would  hardly  speak  to  him;  at 
others  she  cared  to  speak  to  no  one  else.  The  captain 
would  have  profited  ill  by  the  opportunities  a  residence  in 
garrison  towns  offers  if  he  had  not  recognized  that  these 
changeful  relations  were  fraught  with  peril  to  his  hopes. 

At  the  bazaar,  for  example,  he  was  so  much  moved  by  a 
long  conversation  between  Janet  and  Dale,  which  took 
place  over  the  handing  of  a  cup  of  tea,  that  he  unburdened 
himself  to  his  friend,  Sir  Harry  Fulmer.  Now  Sir  Harry 
was  in  a  bad  temper;  he  had  his  object  in  attending,  as  the 
captain  had,  and  Colonel  Smith  had  just  told  him  that 
Tora  was  not  coming. 

"  Who  is  the  fellow?"  demanded  Captain  Ripley. 

il  Writes  poetry." 

"  I  never  heard  of  him." 

"  I  dare  say  not.     It's  not  much  in  your  line,  is  it?" 


A    CHAKGE    OF    AIK.  73 

"  Well,  he's  a  queer-looking  beggar." 
"  Think  so?     Now  I  call  him  a  good-looking  chap." 
"  Why  the  deuce  doesn't  he  get  his  hair  cut?" 
"  Don't  know.     Perhaps  Janet  Delane  likes  it  long." 
"  I  hate  that  sort  of  fellow,  Harry." 
"  He's  not  a  bad  chap." 
"  Does  the  squire  like  him?" 

"  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care.  How  beastly  hot  this 
room  is!     I  shall  go." 

"  I  say,  Harry,  I've  only  just  come  back,  you  know.  Is 
there  anything  on?" 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to  take  a  hand,  I  should  cut  in 
pretty  sharp,"  said  Sir  Harry,  elbowing  his  way  to  the 
door. 

Captain  Ripley,  impatiently  refusing  to  buy  a  negro  doll 
which  the  vicar's  daughter  pressed  on  his  favorable  notice, 
leaned  against  the  wall  and  grimly  regarded  Dale  Ban- 
nister. 

The  latter  was  just  saying: 

"  Have  you  looked  at  the  verses  at  all,  Miss  Delane?" 
"  I  have  read  every  one  over  and  over.      They  are 
splendid." 

"  Oh,  I'm  new  to  that  sort  of  thing." 
"  Yes,  but  it's  so — such  a  joy  to  me  to  see  you  doing 
what  is  really  worthy  of  you." 

"  If  there  is  any  credit,  it's  yours." 
"  Now  why  do  you  say  that?    It  isn't  true,  and  it  just 
spoils  it." 

"  Spoils  it?"  said  Dale,  who  thought  girls  liked  compli- 
ments. 

"  Yes.  If  you  had  really  only  done  it  to  please — an  in- 
dividual, it  would  be  worth  nothing.  You  couldn't  help 
doing  it.     I  knew  you  couldn't." 

"  At  any  rate,  you  must  accept  the  responsibility  of  hav- 
ing put  it  into  my  head." 

"  Not  even  that,  Mr.  Bannister." 

"  Oh,  but  that's  the  meaning  of  the  dedication." 

No  one  is  quite  free  from  guile.     Janet  answered: 

"  The  dedication  is  rather  mysterious,  Mr.  Bannister. 

"  I  meant  it  to  be  so  to  all  the  world." 

"  Oh,  did  you?" 

"Except  you." 

Janet  blushed  and  smiled. 


>> 


74  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  I  wonder/'  pursued  Dale,  "  if  I  shall  ever  be  allowed 
to  name  that  lady?" 

"  That  will  depend  on  whether  she  wishes  it." 

"  Of  course.     Do  you  think  she  will — hereafter?" 

"  Won't  you  have  another  cup?  It's  only  half  a  crown." 

"  Yes,  two  more,  please.     Do  you  think  she  will?" 

"  How  thirsty  you  seem  to  be!" 

"  Will  she?" 

"  Now,  Mr.  Bannister,  I  mustn't  neglect  all  my  cus- 
tomers.    See,  Mrs.  Gilkison  is  selling  nothing." 

"  But  will  she?" 

"  Certainly  not — unless  you  go  and  buy  something  from 
Mrs.  Gilkison." 

Now,  whether  Janet  were  really  concerned  for  Mrs.  Gil- 
kison, or  whether  she  had  caught  sight  of  Captain  Ripley's 
lowering  countenance,  or  whether  she  merely  desired  to 
avoid  pledging  herself  to  Dale,  it  is  immaterial,  and  also 
impossible  to  say.  Dale  felt  himself  dismissed,  with  the 
consolation  of  perceiving  that  his  dedication  had  not  been 
unfavorably  received  in  the  quarter  to  which  it  was  ad- 
dressed. 

Accordingly  it  was  in  a  cheerful  frame  of  mind  that  he 
set  out  for  home,  scattering  most  of  his  purchases  among 
the  children  before  he  went. 

He  was  in  a  kindly  mood,  and  when  he  saw  James  Rob- 
erts coming  up  High  Street,  he  did  not,  as  he  had  once  or 
twice  lately,  cross  the  road  to  avoid  meeting  him,  but  held 
on  his  path,  determined  to  offer  a  friendly  greeting. 

When  the  doctor  came  up,  he  stopped  and  took  from 
his  breast-pocket  the  little  green  volume  which  contained 
Dale's  latest  poems.  He  held  it  up  before  the  author's 
eyes. 

"  Ah,  Roberts,  I  see  you  have  the  new  work.  How  do 
you  like  it?" 

He  tried  to  speak  easily,  but  the  doctor  did  not  appear 
to  be  in  a  conciliatory  temper. 

"  Are  these  things  really  yours?"  he  asked. 

"  Of  course  they  are." 

"  This  wretched  jingo  doggerel  yours?" 

Dale  felt  this  unjust.  The  verses  might  not  express  the 
doctor's  views,  but  an  immortal  poet's  works  are  not  light- 
ly to  be  called  doggerel. 

"  What  a  narrow-minded  beggar  you  are !"  he  exclaimed. 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  75 

The  doctor  answered  nothing.  Buttoning  up  his  thread- 
bare coat,  so  as  to  leave  his  arms  free,  with  an  effort  he 
tore  the  leaves  from  their  cover,  rent  them  across,  flung 
them  on  the  road,  and  trod  them  into  the  mud.  Then, 
without  a  word,  he  passed  on  his  way,  while  Dale  stood 
and  stared  at  the  dishonored  wreck. 

"  He's  mad— stark  mad!"  he  declared  at  last.  "  How 
ill  the  poor  chap  looks,  too!" 

The  doctor  hurried  down  the  street,  with  a  strange, 
malicious  smile  on  his  face.  Every  now  and  then  his  hand 
sought  his  breast-pocket  again,  and  hugged  a  check  for  a 
hundred  pounds  which  lay  there.  It  was  his  last  money 
in  the  world;  when  that  was  gone,  his  banking^  account 
was  exhausted,  and  nothing  remained  but  his  wife's  pit- 
tance— and  nothing  more  was  coming.  Yet  he  had  de- 
voted that  sum  to  a  purpose,  and  now  he  stopped  at  Alder- 
man Johnstone's  door,  and  asked  for  the  master  of  the 
house,'  still  grimly  smiling  at  the  thought  of  what  he  was 
preparing  for  Dale  Bannister,  if  only  Johnstone  would 
help  him.  Johnstone  had  a  lease  now,  he  was  independent 
— if  only  he  would  help  him! 

The  alderman  listened  to  the  plan. 

"  It's  a  new  trade  for  me,"  said  he,  with  a  grin. 

"  I  find  the  stock— I  have  it  ready.  And—"  He  held 
up  the  check. 

The  alderman's  eyes  glistened. 

"  They  can't  touch  me,"  he  said,  "  and  I  should  like  to 
'ave  a  shy  at  the  squire.     'Ere's  my  'and  upon  it." 

A  day  or  two  afterward  Dale  heard  that  the  sale  of 
"Sluggards"  was  increasing  by  leaps  and  bounds.  A 
single  house  had  taken  five  hundred  copies.  "Amor 
Patriae "  had  evidently  given  a  fresh  impetus  to  the 
earlier  work,  in  spite  of  the  remarkable  difference  of  tone 
which  existed  between  them. 

"  It  shows,"  said  Dale,  complacently,  to  Philip  Hume, 
"  that  most  people  are  not  such  intolerant  idiots  as  that 
fellow  Roberts." 

But  what  it  really  did  show  will  appear  in  due  season. 
Dale  did  not  know;  nor  did  Philip,  for  he  said,  with  a  fine 
sneer: 

"  It  shows  that  immorality  doesn't  matter  if  it's  com- 
bined with  sound  political  principles,  old  man." 


70  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   RESPONSIBILITIES  OF   GENIUS. 

Dr.  Spink  sat  in  his  comfortable  dining-room  with  his 
after-dinner  glass  of  wine  before  him.  The  snow  was  fall- 
ing and  the  rain  beating  against  the  windows,  but  the 
doctor  had  finished  his  work,  and  feared  only  that  some 
sudden  call  would  compel  him  to  face  the  fury  of  the 
weather  again.  A  few  months  back  he  would  have  greeted 
any  summons,  however  unreasonable  the  hour,  and  thought 
a  new  patient  well  bought  at  the  price  of  a  spoiled  even- 
ing. But  of  late  the  world  had  smiled  upon  him,  the  hill 
which  had  looked  so  steep  was  proving  easy  to  climb,  and 
he  was  already  considering  whether  he  should  not  take  a 
partner,  to  relieve  him  of  the  more  irksome  parts  of  his 
duty.  He  pulled  his  neatly  trimmed  whisker  and  caressed 
his  smooth-shaven  chin,  as  he  reflected  how  the  folly  of 
that  mad  fellow,  Roberts,  had  turned  to  his  advantage. 
No  man  could  say  that  he  had  deviated  an  inch  from  pro- 
fessional propriety,  or  pressed  his  advantage  the  least 
unfairly.  He  had  merely  persevered  on  the  lines  he  laid 
down  for  himself  on  his  first  arrival.  The  success,  which 
astonished  even  himself,  had  come  to  him,  partly,  no 
doubt,  because  merit  must  make  its  way,  but  mainly  be- 
cause his  rival  had  willfully  flung  away  his  chances,  pre- 
ferring— and  to  Dr.  Spink  it  seemed  a  preference  almost 
insane — to  speak  his  mind,  whatever  it  might  be,  rather 
than,  like  a  wise  man,  hold  his  tongue  and  fill  his  pockets. 

So  Roberts  had  willed,  and  hence  the  vicarage,  the 
Grange,  and  many  other  houses  now  knew  his  footstep  no 
more,  and  Spink  filled  his  place.  As  he  pondered  on  this, 
Dr.  Spink  spared  a  pang  of  pity  for  his  beaten  competitor, 
wondering  what  in  the  world  the  man  meant  to  live  upon. 

The  door-bell  rang.  He  heard  it  with  a  sigh — the  half- 
pleased,  half -weary,  resigned  sight  that  a  man  utters  when 
fortune  gives  him  no  rest  in  getting  gain.  A  moment 
later  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  surgery  to  see  a  lady  who 
would  not  send  in  her  name  or  business. 

He  recognized  Ethel  Roberts  with  surprise  when  she 
raised  her  veil.  They  had  known  each  other  to  bow  to, 
but  he  could  not  imagine  what  brought  her  to  his  surgery. 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  77 

"  Mrs.  Roberts!    Is  there  anything — " 

"  Oh,  Doctor  Spink,  you  must  forgive  me  for  coming. 
I  am  in  great  trouble,  and  I  thought  you  might  help  me." 

il  Pray  sit  down.     Is  any  one  ill — your  little  boy?" 

"  No,  he's  not  ill.     It's — it's  about  my  husband." 

"  I  hope  Mr.  Roberts  is  not  ill?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  nervously.  "  That's  what 
I  want  to  ask  you.     Have  you  seen  him  lately?" 

"  No,  not  very;  I  passed  him  in  the  street  the  other 
day." 

"He's  gone  to  London,  suddenly,  I  don't  know  why. 
Oh,  he's  been  so  strangely  lately!" 

"  I  thought  he  looked  worried.  Tell  me  about  it,"  said 
Dr.  Spink,  moved  now  with  genuine  pity  for  the  pale,  hag- 
gard face  before  him. 

"  Ever  since — but  you  mustn't  tell  I  came  to  you— or 
spoke  to  anybody,  I  mean — will  you?" 

He  reassured  her,  and  she  continued: 

"  Ever  since  his  quarrel  with  Mr.  Bannister — you  know 
about  it? — there  is  something  the  matter  with  him.  He 
is  moody,  and  absent-minded,  and — and  hasty,  and  he  set- 
tles to  nothing.     And  now  he  is  gone  off  like  this." 

"  Come,  Mrs.  Roberts,  you  must  compose  yourself.  I 
suppose  he  has  let  these  politics  worry  him." 

"  He  seems  to  care  nothing  for — for  his  home  or  the 
baby,  you  know;  he  does  nothing  but  read,  or  wander  up 
and  down  the  room." 

"  It  sounds  as  if  he  wanted  a  rest  and  a  change.  You 
say  he  has  gone  away?" 

"  Yes;  but  on  business,  I  think." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't  tell  you  much,  unless  he  calls  me  in 
and  lets  me  have  a  look  at  him." 

"  He'll  never  do  that!"  she  exclaimed,  before  she  could 
stop  herself. 

Dr.  Spink  took  no  notice  of  her  outburst. 

"  If  he  comes  back  no  better,  send  me  a  line,  Mrs.  Rob- 
erts, and  we'll  see.  And  mind  you  let  me  know  if  you  or 
the  baby  want  any  advice." 

"  You're  very  kind,  Doctor  Spink.  I — I'm  sorry  James 
is  so — " 

"  Oh,  that's  a  symptom.  If  he  gets  right,  he  won't  be 
like  that.  Your  jacket's  too  thin  for  such  a  night.  Let 
me  send  you  home  in  the  brougham." 


78  A    CHANGE    OP    AIR. 

Ethel  refused  the  offer,  and  started  on  her  return,  leav- 
ing Dr.  Spink  shaking  a  thoughtful  head  in  the  surgery 
door-way. 

"  It  really  looks/'  he  said,  "  as  if  he  was  a  bit  queer. 
But  what  can  I  do?    Poor  little  woman!" 

And,  not  being  able  to  do  anything,  he  went  back  and 
finished  his  glass  of  port.  Then,  for  his  dinner  had  been 
postponed  till  late  by  business,  and  it  was  half  past  ten,  he 
went  to  bed. 

Ethel  beat  her  way  down  the  High  Street  against  the 
wind  and  snow,  shutting  her  eyes  in  face  of  the  blinding 
shower,  and  pushing  on  with  all  her  speed  to  rejoin  her 
baby,  whom  she  had  left  alone.  When,  wet  and  weary, 
she  reached  her  door,  to  her  surprise  she  saw  a  man  wait- 
ing there.  For  a  moment  she  joyously  thought  it  was  her 
husband,  but  as  the  man  came  forward  to  meet  her,  she 
recognized  Philip  Hume. 

"  Out  on  such  a  night,  Mrs.  Roberts!" 

She  murmured  an  excuse,  and  he  went  on: 

"  Is  the  doctor  in?     I  came  to  look  him  up." 

"  No,  he's  away  in  London,  Mr.  Hume." 

"In  London?    What  for?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  May  I  come  in  for  a  moment?"  asked  Philip,  who 
had  been  looking  at  her  closely. 

"  If  you  like,"  she  answered,  in  some  surprise.  "  I'm 
afraid  there's  no  fire." 

Philip  had  followed  her  in  and  seen  the  grate  in  the  sit- 
ting-room with  no  fire  lighted. 

"  No  fire?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  There  is  one  in  my  room  where  baby  is,"  she  ex- 
plained. 

"  There  ought  to  be  one  here  too,"  said  he.  "  You're 
looking  ill." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  ill,  Mr.  Hume — I'm  not  indeed." 

Philip  had  come  on  an  errand.  There  are  uses  even  in 
gossips,  and  he  had  had  a  talk  with  his  friend,  the  mayor, 
that  day. 

"  Where  are  the  coals?"  he  asked. 

"  There  are  some  in  the  scuttle,"  she  said. 

He  looked  and  found  a  few  small  pieces.  The  fire  was 
laid  with  a  few  more.  Philip  lighted  them  and  threw  on 
all  the  rest.     Then  he  went  to  the  door,  and  shouted: 


A   CHAHGE    OF   AIE.  79 

"Wilson!" 

The  small,  shrewd-faced  man  who  waited  on  Dale  Ban- 
nister appeared.  He  was  pushing  a  wheelbarrow  before 
him. 

"  Wheel  it  into  the  passage/'  said  Philip;  "  and  then 
go.     And,  mind,  not  a  word!" 

Wilson  looked  insulted. 

"  I  don't  talk,  sir,"  said  he. 

Philip  returned  to  the  room. 

"  Mrs.  Eoberts,"  he  said,  "  listen  to  me.  I  am  a  friend 
of  your  husband's.     Will  you  let  me  help  you?" 

"  Indeed,  I  need  no  help." 

"  I  know  you  are  frozen,"  he  went  on;  "  and—  where 
is  the  servant?" 

"  She  has  left.  I — I  haven't  got  another  yet,"  she 
faltered. 

"  In  the  passage,"  Philip  went  on,  "  there  is  a  wheel- 
barrow.    It  holds  coals,  food,  and  drink.     It's  for  you." 

She  started  up. 

"  I  can't — indeed  I  can't!    Jim  wouldn't  like  it." 

"  Jim  be  hanged!  I'll  settle  with  him.  You're  to  take 
them.     Do  you  hear?" 

She  did  not  answer.  He  walked  up  to  her  and  put  a 
little  canvas  bag  in  her  hands. 

"  There's  money.  No,  take  it.  I  shall  keep  an  ac- 
count." 

"  I  really  don't  need  it." 

"  You  do — you  know  you  do.  How  much  money  has 
he  left  you?" 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  He's  not  himself,  he  isn't  indeed,  Mr.  Hume,  or  he 
wouldn't — " 

"No,  of  course  he  isn't.  So  I  do  what  he  would,  if  he 
were  himself.     You  were  going  to  starve." 

"  He  will  be  angry." 

"  Then  don't  tell  him.  He'll  never  notice.  Now,  will 
he?" 

"  He  notices  nothing  now,"  she  said. 

"  And  you'll  take  them?  Come,  think  of  what's-his- 
name — the  baby,  you  know." 

"  You're  too  kind  to  me." 

u  Nonsense!  Of  course  we'll  look  after  you,  Mrs.  Eob- 
erts." 


80  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  Mr.  Hume,  do  you  think — what  do  you  think  is  the 
matter  with  Jim?" 

"  Oh,  I  think  he's  an  old  fool,  Mrs.  Roberts,  and  you 
may  tell  him  so  from  me.  No,  no,  he'll  be  all  right  in  a 
week  or  two.  Meanwhile,  we're  going  to  make  you  and 
Tommy — oh,  Johnny,  is  it? — comfortable." 

He  did  not  leave  her  till  she  had  consented  to  accept  all 
he  offered;  then  he  went  back  to  Littlehill. 

"  I  think,  Dale,"  he  said,  "  Roberts  must  be  mad.  He 
left  his  wife  and  child  starving." 

"  Did  she  take  the  things?" 

"  Yes;  I  made  her." 

"  That's  all  right.  What  a  strange  beggar  he  is!  He 
can't  be  quite  right  in  his  head." 

"  Fancy  that  poor  little  woman  left  like  that!" 

"  Horrible!"  said  Dale,  with  a  shudder.  "  At  any  rate, 
we  can  prevent  that.     I'm  so  glad  you  thought  of  it." 

"  Old  Hedger  told  me  they  had  ordered  nothing  for 
three  days." 

"  How  the  deuce  does  Hedger  know  everything?" 

"  It's  lucky  he  knew  this,  isn't  it?" 

"By  Jove,  it  is!  Because,  you  know,  Phil,  I  feel  a 
kind  of  responsibility." 

"  Nonsense,  Dale!    Not  really?" 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  laugh.  Of  course  I  couldn't  know 
the  man  was  a  sort  of  lunatic.  One  doesn't  write  for 
lunatics." 

"  Perhaps  they  ought  to  be  considered,  being  so  numer- 
ous." 

"  However,  it's  all  right  now.     Awfully  obliged  to  you, 

"  I  wonder  if  he'll  come  back." 

. "  Roberts?    Why  shouldn't  he?" 

M  I  don't  know,  but  he's  quite  capable  of  just  cutting 
the  whole  concern." 

"  I  think  he's  capable  of  anything." 

"  Except  appreciating  '  Amor  Patriae,'  eh?" 

Dale,  having  got  the  Roberts  family  off  his  mind,  drifted 
to  another  topic. 

"  I  say,  Phil,  old  chap,  will  you  stop  playing  the  fool 
for  once,  and  give  me  your  advice?" 

"  What  about?"  asked  Philin,  throwing  himself  into  an 
arm-chair. 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  81 

"  What/'  said  Dale,  gravely,  filling  his  pipe,  "  do  you 
think  about  getting  married?" 

"  Are  you  thinking  of  it?" 

"  Discuss  marriage  in  the  abstract." 

"  It  is  a  position  of  greater  responsibility  and  less  free- 
dom." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that.  But  a  lot  depends  on  the  girl, 
doesn't  it?" 

"  I  expect  so." 

"  I  say,  Phil,  what  do  you  think  of  Ripley?" 

"  He  seemed  a  decent  enough  fellow." 

"  Do  you  think — I  mean,  do  you  call  him  an  attractive 
fellow?" 

"  Oh,  uncommonly!" 

"  Really?" 

"  Well,  why  not?" 

Dale  fidgeted  in  his  chair,  and  relighted  the  pipe,  which 
had  gone  out.  He  was  much  too  perturbed  to  give  to  the 
filling  of  it  the  attention  that  operation  needs. 

"  I  suppose  he'll  be  rich,  and  a  swell,  and  all  that,"  he 
went  on. 

"  No  doubt — but  not  a  Victorian  poet." 

"Don't  be  a  fool!" 

"  I  meant  it  kindly.     Some  girls  like  poets." 

"  They  were  awfully  kind  about  '  Amor  Patrias '  at  the 
Grange  to-night." 

"  Oh,  you've  been  there?" 

"  You  know  I  have.  Ripley  was  there.  I  don't  think 
I  care  much  about  him,  Phil." 

"  Don't  you?    Does  he  like  you?" 

Dale  laughed  as  he  rose  to  go  to  bed. 

"  Not  much,  I  think,"  said  he. 

Philip  also,  being  left  companionless,  got  up  and 
knocked  out  his  pipe.  Then  he  stood  looking  into  the  dy- 
ing embers  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  thinking,  as  he 
warmed  his  hands  with  the  last  of  the  heat.  'k  Poor  little 
Nellie!"  he  said.  After  a  pause,  he  said  it  again;  and 
once  again  after  that.  But  then,  as  saying  it  was  no  use 
at  all,  he  sighed  and  went  to  bed. 


82  A    CHAKGE    OF    AIE. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

ME.    DELANE   LIKES  THE  IDEA. 

Otf  a  bright  morning,  when  February  was  in  one  of  its 
brief  moods  of  kindliness,  Janet  Delane  was  in  the  garden, 
and  flitting  from  it  into  the  hothouses  in  search  of  flowers. 
It  was  half  past  eleven,  and  Captain  Ripley  had  kept  her 
gossiping  long  after  breakfast;  that  was  the  worst  of  idle 
men  staying  in  a  house.  So  she  hastened  to  and  fro  in  a 
great  parade  of  business-like  activity,  and,  as  she  went, 
she  would  sing  blithely  and  stop  and  smile  to  herself,  and 
break  into  singing  again,  and  call  merrily  to  her  dog,  a 
rotund,  slate-colored  bundle  of  hair  that  waddled  after 
her,  and  answered,  if  he  were  given  time  to  get  within 
earshot,  to  the  name  of  Mop.  Mop  was  more  sedate  than 
his  mistress;  she  only  pretended  to  be  on  business  bent, 
while  he  had  been  dragged  out  to  take  a  serious  constitu- 
tional on  account  of  his  growing  corpulence,  and  it  made 
him  sulky  to  be  called  here  and  beckoned  there,  and  told 
there -were  rats,  and  cats,  and  what  not — whereas,  in 
truth,  there  was  no  such  thing.  But  Janet  did  not  mind 
his  sulkiness;  she  smiled,  and  sung,  and  smiled,  for  she 
was  thinking — but  is  nothing  to  be  sacred  from  a  prying 
race?  It  is  no  concern  of  any  one's  what  she  was  think- 
ing, and  no  doubt  she  did  not  desire  it  to  be  known,  or  she 
would  have  told  Captain  Ripley  in  the  course  of  that  long 
gossip. 

The  captain  stood  gazing  at  her  out  of  the  window,  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  a  doleful  look  of  bewilder- 
ment on  his  face.  He  stared  out  into  the  garden,  but  he 
was  listening  to  Mrs.  Delane,  and  wondering  uneasily  if 
he  were  really  such  a  dolt  as  his  hostess  seemed  to  con- 
sider. 

"  You  know,  Gerard,"  said  Mrs.  Delane  in  her  usual 
tone  of  suave  sovereignty,  "  that  I  am  anxious  to  help  you 
all  I  can.  I  have  always  looked  forward  to  it  as  an  event 
which  would  give  us  all  pleasure,  and  I  know  my  husband 
agrees  with  me.  But  really  we  can't  do  anything  if  you 
don't  help  yourself." 

The  captain  gnawed  his  mustache  and  thrust  his  hands 
deeper  into  his  pockets. 


A    CHANGE    OP    AIE.  83 

n  I  can't  make  her  out,"  said  he.  "I  can't  get  any- 
further  with  her." 

04  It's  not  the  way  to  '  get  further/ "  answered  Mrs. 
Delane,  marking  the  quotation  by  a  delicate  emphasis, 
"  with  any  girl  to  stand  on  the  other  side  of  the  room  and 
scowl  whenever  she  talks  to  another  man." 

"  You  mean  Bannister?" 

"I  mean  anybody.  I  don't  care  whether  it's  Mr. 
Bannister  or  not.  And  it's  just  as  useless  to  pull  a  long 
face  and  look  tragic  whenever  she  makes  fan  of  you." 

"  She  didn't  use  to  be  like  that  last  time  I  was  home." 

"  My  dear  boy,  what  has  that  got  to  do  with  it?  She 
was  a  child  then." 

"  She's  always  blowing  me  up.  This  morning  she 
asked  me  why  I  didn't  go  to  India  instead  of  wasting  my 
time  doing  nothing  in  London." 

This  was  certainly  unfeeling  conduct  on  Janet's  part. 
Mrs.  Delane  sighed. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  quite  understand  her  either,  Ge- 
rard. There's  the  squire  calling  you.  He's  ready  to  ride, 
I  expect." 

When  Janet  came,  she  found  her  mother  alone. 

"  Where's  Gerard?"  she  asked. 

"  He's  gone  for  a  ride." 

"  Is  he  staying  to-night?" 

"  Yes;  two  or  three  days,  I  think." 

"  Well,  dear,  I  am  glad  we  amuse  him.  There  doesn't 
seem  much  for  a  man  to  do  here,  does  there?" 

"  Don't  you  like  him  to  be  here?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind;  only  he  wastes  my  time." 

"  I  begin  to  think  he's  wasting  his  own  too,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Delane. 

"  Oh,  he's  got  nothing  else  to  do  with  it — or  at  least  he 
does  nothing  else  with  it." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,  Janet,  dear." 

"  I  suppose  I  do,  but  how  can  I  help  it?  I  do  all  I  can 
to  show  him  it's  no  use." 

"  You  used  to  like  him  very  much." 

"  Oh,  so  I  do  now.     But  that's  quite  different." 

The  world  goes  very  crooked.  Mrs.  Delane  sighed 
again. 

"  It  would  have  pleased  your  father  very  much." 


84  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  I'm  so  sorry.  But  I  couldn't  care  for  a  man  of  that 
sort." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  man,  my  dear?" 

"  That's  just  it,  mamma.  Nothing — nothing  bad — and 
nothing  good.     Gerard  is  like  heaps  of  men  I  know." 

"  I  think  you  underrate  him.  His  father  was  just  the 
same,  and  he  was  very  distinguished  in  the  House." 

Janet's  gesture  betrayed  but  slight  veneration  for  the 
High  Court  of  Parliament,  as  she  answered:  "  They  al- 
ways say  that  about  dull  people." 

"  Well,  if  it's  no  use,  the  sooner  the  poor  boy  knows  it 
the  better." 

"  I  can't  tell  him  till  he  asks  me,  can  I,  dear?  Though 
I'm  sure  he  might  see  it  for  himself." 

Mrs.  Delane,  when  she  made  up  her  mind  to  sound  her 
daughter's  inclinations,  had  expected  to  find  doubt,  inde- 
cision, perhaps  even  an  absence  of  any  positive  inclination 
toward  Captain  Ripley.  She  had  not  been  prepared  for 
Janet's  unquestioning  assumption  that  the  thing  was  not 
within  the  range  of  consideration.  A  marriage  so  excel- 
lent from  a  material  point  of  view,  with  one  who  enjoyed 
all  the  advantages  old  intimacy  and  liking  could  give, 
seemed  to  claim  more  than  the  unhesitating  dismissal  with 
which  Janet  relegated  it  to  the  limbo  of  impossibility,  with 
never  a  thought  for  all  the  prosj)ects  it  held  out,  and 
never  a  sigh  for  the  wealth  and  rank  it  promised.  Of 
course  the  Delanes  needed  no  alliances  to  establish  their  po- 
sition; still,  as  the  squire  had  no  son,  it  would  have  been 
pleasant  if  his  daughter  had  chosen  a  husband  from  the 
leading  family  in  the  county.  The  more  Mrs.  Delane 
thought,  the  more  convinced  she  became  that  there  must 
be  a  reason;  and  if  there  were,  it  could  be  looked  for  only 
in  one  direction.  She  wondered  whether  the  squire's  pen- 
chant for  his  gifted  young  neighbor  was  strong  enough  to 
make  him  welcome  him  as  a  son-in-law.  Frankly,  her 
own  was  not. 

Mr.  Delane  came  in  to  luncheon,  but  Captain  Ripley 
sent  a  message  of  excuse.  He  had  ridden  over  to  Sir 
Harry  Fulmer's,  and  would  spend  the  afternoon  there. 
Mrs.  Delane's  reception  of  the  news  conveyed  delicately 
that  such  conduct  was  only  what  might  be  expected,  if  one 
considered  how    Janet  treated  the  poor  fellow,  but  the 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  85 

squire  was  too  busy  to  appreciate  the  subtleties  of  his 
wife's  demeanor. 

Important  events  were  in  the  way  to  happen.  Denshire, 
like  many  other  countries,  had  recently  made  up  its  mind 
that  it  behooved  it  to  educate  itself,  and  a  building  had 
arisen  in  Denborough  which  was  to  serve  as  an  institute  of 
technical  education,  a  school  of  agriculture,  a  center  of 
learning,  a  home  of  instructive  recreation,  a  haven  for  the 
peripatetic  lecturer,  and  several  things  besides.  Lord 
Cransford  had  consented  to  open  this  temple  of  the  arts, 
which  was  now  near  completion,  and  an  inauguration  by 
him  would  have  been  suitable  and  proper.  But  the  squire 
had  something  far  better  to  announce.  The  lord  lieuten- 
ant was,  next  month,  to  be  honored  by  a  visit  from  a  royal 
duke,  and  the  royal  duke  had  graciously  consented  to  come 
over  and  open  the  institute.  It  would  be  an  occasion  the 
like  of  which  Denborough  had  seldom  seen,  and  Lord 
Cransford  and  Mr.  Delane  might  well  be  pardoned  the 
deputy-providential  air  with  which  they  went  about  for  the 
few  days  next  following  on  the  successful  completion  of 
this  delicate  negotiation. 

"  Now/'  said  the  squire,  when  he  had  detailed  the 
prince's  waverings  and  vacillations,  his  he-woulds  and  he- 
would-nots,  and  the  culmination  of  his  gracious  assent, 
"  I  have  a  great  idea,  and  I  want  you  to  help  me,  Jan." 

V  How  can  I  help?"  asked  Janet,  who  was  already  in  a 
nutter  of  loyalty. 

"  When  the  duke  comes,  I  want  him  to  have  a  splendid 
reception." 

"  I'm  sure  he  will,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Delane;  "  at 
least  I  hope  that  we  are  loyal." 

"  We  want/'  continued  the  squire,  "  to  show  him  all 
our  resources." 

"  Well,  papa,  that  won't  take  him  very  long.  There's 
the  old  Mote  Hall,  and  the  Roman  pavement  and —  Oh, 
but  will  he  come  here,  papa — to  the  Grange?" 

"  I  hope  he  will  take  luncheon  here." 

"How  delightful!"  exclaimed  Janet,  joyfully. 

"  Goodness!"  said  Mrs.  Delane,  anxiously. 

"  But,  Jan,  I  want  to  show  him  our  poet!" 

"  Papa!     Mr.  Bannister?" 

"  Yes.     I  want  Bannister  to  write  a  poem  of  welcome. " 


86  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  My  dear/'  remarked  Mrs.  Delane,  "  Mr.  Bannister 
doesn't  like  princes;"  and  she  smiled  satirically. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Jan:"  asked  the  squire,  smiling  in 
his  turn. 

"  Oh,  yes,  do  ask  him,  papa.     I  wish  he  would." 

"  Well,  will  you  ask  him  to?" 

"  Really,  George,  vou  are  the  person  to  suggest  it." 

"  Yes,  Mary.     But  if  I  fail?    Now,  Jan?" 

"  Oh,  don't  be  foolish,  papa.     It's  not  likely — " 

"  Never  mind.     Will  you?" 

But  Janet  had,  it  seemed,  finished  her  meal;  at  least  she 
had  left  the  room.  Mrs.  Delane  looked  vexed.  The 
squire  laughed,  for  he  was  a  man  who  enjoyed  his  little 
joke. 

"  Poor  Jan!"  he  said.  "  It's  a  shame  to  chaff  her  on 
her  conquests." 

Mrs.  Delane' s  fears  had  been  confirmed  by  her  daugh- 
ter's reception  of  the  raillery.  She  would  have  answered 
in  the  same  tone,  and  accepted  the  challenge,  if  the  banter 
had  not  hit  the  mark. 

"  It's  a  pity,"  said  Mrs.  Delane,  "  to  encourage  her  to 
think  so  much  about  this  young  Bannister." 

"  Eh?"  said  the  squire,  looking  up  from  his  plate. 

"  She  thinks  quite  enough  about  him  already.,  and  hears 
enough,  too." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  he's  something  out  of  the  common 
run,  in  Denshire,  at  all  events,  and  so  he  interests  her." 

"  She'll  have  nothing  to  say  to  Gerard  Bipley." 

"  What?    Has  he  asked  her?" 

"  No;  but  I  found  out  from  her.  He's  quite  indifferent 
to  her." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  that,  but  there's  time  yet.  I  don't  give 
up  hope." 

"  Do  you  think  you  help  your  wishes  by  asking  her  to 
use  her  influence  to  make  Dale  Bannister  write  poems?" 

The  squire  laid  down  his  napkin  and  looked  at  his  wife. 

"  Oh!"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 
Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Delane.     "  Are  you  surprised?" 


a 

ti 

li  Yes,  I  am,  rather." 


He  got  up  and  walked  about  the  room,  jangling  the 
money  in  his  pocket. 
"  We  know  nothing  about  young  Bannister,"  he  said. 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  87 

"  Except  that  lie's  the  son  of  a  Dissenting  minister, 
and  has  lived  with  very  queer  people." 

The  squire  frowned;  but  presently  his  face  cleared.  "  1 
dare  say  we're  troubling  ourselves  quite  unnecessarily.  I 
haven't  noticed  anything." 

"  I  dare  say  not,  George/'  said  Mrs.  Delane. 

1 '  Come,  Mary,  you  know  it's. a  weakness  of  37ours  to 
find  out  people's  love  affairs  before  they  do  themselves." 

"  Very  well,  George,"  answered  she  in  a  resigned  tone. 
"  I  have  told  you,  and  you  will  act  as  you  think  best. 
Only,  if  you  wouldn't  like  him  for  a  son-in-law — " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  you  do  go  ahead." 

"  Try  to  put  him  out  of  Janet's  head,  not  in  it;"  and 
Mrs.  Delane  swept  out  of  the  room. 

The  squire  went  to  his  study,  thinking  as  he  went.  He 
would  have  liked  the  Eipley  connection.  Lord  Cransford 
was  an  old  friend,  and  the  match  would  have  been  unim- 
peachable. Still —  The  squire  could  not  quite  analyze 
his  feelings,  but  he  did  feel  that  the  idea  of  Dale  Bannister 
was  not  altogether  unattractive.  By  birth,  of  course,  he 
was  a  nobody,  and  he  had  done  and  said,  or  at  least  said 
he  had  done,  or  would  like  to  do — for  the  squire,  on  re- 
flection, softened  down  his  condemnation — wild  things; 
but  he  was  a  distinguished  man,  a  man  of  brains,  a  force 
in  the  country.  One  must  move  with  the  times.  Nowa- 
days brains  opened  every  front  door,  and  genius  was  a 
passport  everywhere.  He  was  not  sure  that  he  disliked 
the  idea.  Women  were  such  sticklers  for  old  notions. 
Now,  he  had  never  been  a — stick-in-the-mud  Tory.  If 
Dale  went  on  improving  as  he  was  doing,  the  squire  would 
think  twice  before  he  refused  him.  But  there!  very  likely 
it  was  only  Mary's  match-making  instincts  making  a 
mountain  out  of  a  mole-hill. 

"  I  shall  keep  at  Jan  about  that  poem,"  he  ended  by 
saying.     "  It  would  be  a  fine  facer  for  the  Radicals." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

HOW  IT   SEEMED   TO  THE   DOCTOK. 

James  Roberts  made  to  himself  some  excuse  of  busi- 
ness for  his  sudden  expedition  to  London,  but  in  reality 
he  was  moved  to  go  by  the  desire  for  sympathy.  There 
are  times  and  moods  when  a  man  will  do  many  strange 


88  A    CHANGE    OF    AIE. 

things,  if  thereby  he  may  gain  the  comfort  of  an  approv- 
ing voice.  It  was  not  so  much  his  straitened  means  and 
impoverished  household,  with  the  silent,  suppressed  re- 
proach of  his  wife's  sad  face,  which  made  Denborough  for 
the  time  uninhabitable  to  the  doctor.  The  selfishness  en- 
gendered by  his  absorption  in  outside  affairs  armed  him 
against  these;  he  was  more  oppressed,  and  finally  over- 
come and  routed  to  flight,  by  the  universal,  unbroken,  and 
unhesitating  condemnation  and  contempt  that  he  met 
with.  The  severe  banned  him  as  wicked,  the  charitable 
dubbed  him  crazy;  even  Johnstone,  whom  he  had  bought, 
gave  him  no  sympathy.  He  could  not  share  his  savage 
sneers,  or  his  bitter  mirth,  or  his  passionate  indignation, 
with  a  man  to  whom  the  whole  affair  was  a  matter  of  busi- 
ness or  of  personal  grudge.  He  felt  that  he  must  escape 
for-  a  time,  and  seek  society  in  which  he  could  unbosom 
himself  and  speak  from  his  heart  without  stirring  horror 
or  ridicule.  Arthur  Angell  at  least,  who,  in  regard  to 
Dale  and  Dale's  views,  had  always  been  a  better  royalist 
than  the  king,  would  share  his  anger  and  appreciate  his 
meditated  revenge.  The  lesson  he  meant  to  give  the  back- 
slider was  so  appropriate  and  of  such  grim  humor  that 
Arthur  must  be  delighted  with  it. 

On  Dale's  departure,  Arthur  Angell  had  moved  into  the 
little  flat  at  the  top  of  the  tall  building  in  Chelsea,  and 
there  he  cultivated  the  Muses  with  a  devotion  which  was 
its  own  ample  reward.  Though  to  be  passing  rich  on  forty 
pounds  a  year  is,  with  the  best  will,  impossible  in  London 
as  it  is  to-day,  yet  to  be  passing  happy  on  one  hundred  and 
fifty  is  not  beyond  the  range  of  youth  and  enthusiasm,  when 
the  future  still  provides  a  gorgeous  setting  and  background, 
wherein  the  sordid  details  of  the  present  are  merged  and 
lose  their  prominence,  and  all  trials  are  but  landmarks  by 
which  the  hopeful  grub  counts  his  nearer  approach  to  but- 
terflydom.  The  little  room,  the  humble  chop,  the  occa- 
sional pit,  the  constant  tobacco,  the  unending  talks  with 
fellows  like-minded  and  like-pursed — all  these  had  the 
beauty  of  literary  tradition,  and  if  not  a  guarantee,  seemed 
at  least  a  condition  of  future  fame.  So  Arthur  often  said 
to  Mrs.  Hodge,  who  lived  in  the  same  house,  a  couple  of 
floors  lower  down;  and  Mrs.  Hodge  heartily  agreed  as  she 
instanced,  in  confirmation  of  the  doctrine,  how  the  late 
Mr.  Hodge  had  once  played  the  king  at  two  pound  ten, 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  89 

consuls  Pratt,  and  had  lived  to  manage  his  own  the- 
ater. This  was  to  compare  small  things  with  great,  felt 
Arthur,  but  the  truth  is  true  in  whatever  sphere  it  works. 

Into  his  happy  life  there  broke  suddenly  the  tempestu- 
ous form  of  the  Denborough  doctor.  He  arrived  with  but 
a  pound  or  two  in  his  pocket,  with  wild  ideas  of  employ- 
ment on  ultra-Radical  newspapers;  above  all,  with  the  full 
load  of  his  rage  against  Dale  Bannister,  the  traitor.  He 
strode  up  and  down  the  little  room,  tugging  his  beard  and 
fiercely  denouncing  the  renegade,  while  Arthur  looked  at 
his  troubled  eyes  and  knit  brows,  and  wondered  if  his 
mind  were  not  unhinged.  Who  could  talk  like  that  about 
Dale,  if  he  were  sane?  Arthur  would  have  chaffed  his 
friend,  laughed  at  him,  ridiculed  him,  perhaps  slyly  hinted 
at  the  illicit  charms  of  rank  and  wealth,  for  which  the 
poet's  old  mistress  mourned  deserted.  But  to  speak  in  hate 
and  rancor!     And  what  was  he  plotting? 

But  when  he  heard  the  plot,  his  face  cleared,  and  he 
laughed. 

"  I  think  you're  hard  on  Dale,"  he  said;  "  but,  after 
all,  it  will  be  a  good  joke." 

"  Johnstone  will  do  it,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  pausing 
in  his  stride.  "  His  shop  window  will  be  full  of  them. 
He'll  have  sandwich-men  all  over  the  place.  Bannister 
won't  be  able  to  go  out  without  being  met  by  his  own 
words — the  words  he  denies.  I'll  cram  them  down  his 
throat." 

Arthur  laughed  again. 

"  It  will  be  awkward  when  he's  walking  with  old  De- 
lane." 

"  Ay,  and  with  that  girl  who's  got  hold  of  him.  He 
sha'n't  forget  what  he  wrote — nor  shall  a  soul  in  Denbor- 
ough either.  I'll  make  his  treachery  plain,  if  I  spend  my 
last  farthing." 

"  When  are  you  going  back?" 

"In  a  week.  Ifc  will  all  be  ready  in  a  week.  He'll 
know  who  did  it.     Curse  him!" 

"  My  dear  doctor,  aren't  you  a  little — " 

"  Are  you  like  that,  too?"  burst  out  Roberts.  "  Have 
none  of  you  any  sincerity?  Is  it  sham  with  all  of  you? 
You  laugh  as  if  it  were  a  joke." 

"  I  can't  be  angry  with  old  Dale.  I  expect  he'll  only 
laugh  himself,  you  know.     It  will  be  good  fun." 


90  A    CHANGE    OF    AIK. 

Eoberts  looked  at  him  in  hopeless  wrath.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  these  men,  who  wrote  the  words  and  proclaimed 
the  truths  which  had  turned  his  life  and  reformed  his 
soul,  were  themselves  but  playing  with  what  they  taught. 
Were  they  only  actors — or  amusing  themselves? 

"  You  are  as  bad  as  he  is,"  he  said,  angrily,  and  stalked 
out  of  the  room. 

Arthur,  puzzled  with  his  unmanageable  guest,  went 
down,  as  he  often  did,  to  his  neighbors,  and  laid  the  whole 
case  before  Mrs.  Hodge  and  Nellie  Fane.  He  found  them 
both  in,  Nellie  having  just  returned  from  an  afternoon 
concert  where  she  had  been  singing. 

"  I  believe  the  fellow's  half  mad,  you  know,"  said 
Arthur. 

"If  he  isn't,  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself,"  said 
Mrs.  Hodge,  and  she  launched  on  a  description  of  Mrs. 
Roberts'  pitiable  state. 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  that  he's  got  more  than  five 
pounds  in  the  world,"  responded  Arthur.  "  And  he's 
got  no  chance  of  making  any  money.  Nobody  dares  pub- 
lish what  he  wants  to  write." 

"  He  used  to  be  pleasant  at  Littlehill,"  Nellie  remarked, 
"  when  we  were  first  there." 

"Yes,  wasn't  he?  But  he's  gone  quite  wild  over  Dale. 
Do  you  know  what  his  next  move  is?"  And  Arthur  dis- 
closed the  Johnstone  conspiracy. 

"  It  will  be  rather  sport,  won't  it?"  he  asked.  "  Poor 
old  Dale!" 

But  no;  Miss  Fane  did  not  see  the  "  sport."  She  was 
indignant;  she  thought  that  such  a  trick  was  mean,  mali- 
cious, and  odious  in  the  highest  degree,  and  she  was  sur- 
prised that  Arthur  Angell  could  be  amused  at  it. 

"  Women  never  see  a  joke,"  said  Arthur,  huffily. 

"  Where's  the  joke  in  making  Dale  unhappy  and — and 
absurd?    And  you  call  yourself  his  friend!" 

"  It's  only  a  joke.  Old  Dale  does  deserve  a  dig,  you 
know." 

"  And  pray,  why?  You  choose  your  friends,  why 
mayn't  he  choose  his?  I  dare  say  you  would  be  glad 
enough  to  know  that  sort  of  people  if  you  could." 

"  Oh,  come,  Nellie!  I'm  not  like  that.  Besides,  it's 
not  the  people;  it's  what  he's  written." 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  91 

"  I've  read  what  he's  written.  It's  beautiful  No,  I 
call  the  whole  thing  horrid,  and  just  like  Doctor  Roberts." 

"  I  suppose  you  think,  just  like  me,  too?" 

"  If  you  don't  write  and  warn  Dale,  I  shall." 

"  I  say,  you  mustn't  do  that.  I  told  you  in  confidence. 
Roberts  will  be  furious." 

"  What  do  I  care  for  Doctor  Roberts'  fury?  I  shall 
write  at  once;"  and  she  sat  down  at  the  table. 

Arthur  glanced  in  despair  at  Mrs.  Hodge,  but  that  dis- 
creet lady  was  entirely  hidden  in  the  evening  paper. 

"  Well,  I'll  never  tell  you  anything  again,  Nellie,"  he 
said. 

"  You'll  never  have  the  chance,  unless  you  behave 
something  like  a  gentleman,"  retorted  Nellie. 

Arthur  banged  the  door  as  he  went  out,  exclaiming: 

"  Damn  Roberts!  What  does  he  want  to  make  a  row 
for?" 

Meanwhile,  the  doctor,  who  was  angry  enough  with 
Arthur  Angell  to  have  rejoiced  had  he  known  that  he  had 
imbroiled  him  in  a  quarter  where  Arthur  was  growing 
very  anxious  to  stand  well,  was  pacing  the  streets,  nursing 
his  resentment.  His  head  ached,  and  fragments  of  what 
he  had  read,  and  half-forgotten  conversations,  mingling  in 
his  whirling  brain,  fretted  and  bewildered  him.  He  could 
think  of  nothing  but  his  wrongs  and  his  revenge,  returning 
always  to  hug  himself  on  his  own  earnestness,  and  angrily 
to  sneer  at  the  weakness  and  treachery  of  his  friends. 
Whatever  it  cost  him  or  his,  the  world  should  see  that 
there  was  one  man  ready  to  sacrifice  himself  for  truth  and 
right — and  punish  "  that  hound,  Dale  Bannister." 

As  he  walked,  he  bought  the  special  edition  of  the 
paper,  and  in  hastily  glancing  at  it,  his  eye  was  caught  by 
the  announcement  that  His  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of 
Mercia  was  to  visit  Lord  Cransford,  and  would  open  the 
institute  at  Market  Denborough.  The  paragraph  went  on 
to  describe  the  preparations  being  made  to  give  the  prince 
a  loyal  reception,  and  ended  by  saying  that  it  was  hoped 
that  the  eminent  poet,  Mr.  Dale  Bannister,  who  was  resi- 
dent at  Denborough,  would  consent  to  write  a  few  lines  of 
welcome  to  the  illustrious  visitor.  The  writer  added  a 
word  or  two  of  good-natured  banter  about  Mr.  Bannister's 
appearance  in  a  new  character,  and  the  well-known  effect 
which  the  proximity  of  royalty  was  apt  to  have  on  English 


92  A    CHANGE    OP    AIR. 

republicanism.  "Who  knows/'  he  concluded,  "that 
Mr.  Bannister  may  not  figure  as  Sir  Dale  before  long?" 

The  doctor  read  the  paragraph  twice,  the  flush  of  anger 
reddening  his  pale  face.  Then  he  crumpled  up  the  paper 
and  flung  it  from  him,  resuming  his  hasty,  restless  walk. 
He  could  imagine  the  sickening  scene,  the  rampant  adula- 
tion, the  blatant  snobbishness.  And,  in  the  midst,  a  dis- 
honored participator,  the  man  who  had  been  his  leader, 
his  liberator,  the  apostle  of  all  he  loved  and  lived  by.  Had 
the  man  been  a  hypocrite  from  the  first?  Impossible!  No 
hypocrite  could  have  written  those  burning  lines  which 
leaped  to  his  memory  and  his  lips.  Or  was  he  merely  a 
weak  fool?  That  could  not  be  either.  It  was  a  barter,  a 
deliberate  barter  of  truth  and  honor  against  profit — as 
sordid  a  transaction  as  could  be.  He  wanted  a  position  in 
society,  money,  a  rich  wife,  petting  from  great  people — 
perhaps  even,  as  that  scribbler  said,  a  ribbon  to  stick  in 
his  coat  or  a  handle  to  fasten  to  his  name.  How  could 
he?  how  could  he?  And  the  doctor  passed  his  hand  across 
his  hot,  throbbing  brow  in  the  bewilderment  of  wrath. 

For  an  hour  and  more  he  ranged  the  streets  aimlessly,  a 
prey  to  his  unreasoning  fury.  For  this  man's  sake  he  had 
ruined  himself;  led  on  by  this  man's  words,  he  had  defied 
tbe  world — his  world.  At  all  hazards  he  had  joined  the 
daring  band.  Now  he  was  forsaken,  abandoned,  flung 
aside.  He  and  his  like  had  served  their  turn.  On  their 
backs  Dale  Bannister  had  mounted.  But  now  he  had 
done  with  them,  and  their  lot  was  repudiation  and  disdain. 
Roberts  could  not  find  words  for  his  scorn  and  contempt. 
His  head  racked  him  more  and  more.  Connected  thought 
seemed  to  become  impossible;  he  could  do  nothing  but 
repeat  again  and  again,  "  The  traitor!     The  traitor!" 

At  last  he  turned  home  to  his  humble  lodgings.  The 
short  hush  of  very  early  morning  had  fallen  on  the  streets; 
he  met  no  one,  and  the  moon  shone  placidly  down  on  the 
solitary  figure  of  the  maddened  mau  wrestling  with  his 
unconquerable  rage.  He  could  not  stem  it:  yielding  to  its 
impulse,  with  quivering  voice  and  face  working  with  pas- 
sion, he  stretched  his  clinched  fist  to  the  sky,  and  cried : 

"  By  God,  he  shall  pay  for  it!" 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  93 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


After  her  father's  report  and  the  departure  of  Nellie 
Fane,  Miss  Tora  Smith  had  been  pleased  to  reconsider  her 
judgment  of  Dale  Bannister,  and  to  modify  it  to  some 
extent.  The  poems  and  the  suspicion,  taken  in  conjunc- 
tion, each  casting  a  lurid  light  on  the  other,  had  been  very 
bad  indeed;  but  when  Tora's  mind  was  disabused  of  the 
suspicion,  she  found  it  in  her  heart  to  pardon  the  poems. 
Although  she  treated  Sir  Harry  Fulmer  with  scant  cere- 
mony, she  had  no  small  respect  for  his  opinion,  and  when 
he  and  the  colonel  coincided  in  the  decision  that  Dale  need 
not  be  ostracized,  she  did  not  persist  against  them.  She 
was  led  to  be  more  compliant  by  the  fact  that  she  was  or- 
ganizing an  important  Liberal  gathering,  and  had  con- 
ceived the  ambition  of  inducing  Dale  to  take  part  in  the 
proceedings. 

"Fancy,  if  he  would  write  us  a  song!"  she  said;  "  a 
song  which  we  could  sing  in  chorus.  Wouldn't  it  be 
splendid?" 

"  What  would  the  squire  say?"  asked  Sir  Harry. 

Tora  smiled  mischievously. 

"  Are  you,"  she  demanded,  "  going  to  stand  by  and  see 
him  captured  by  the  Grange?" 

"  He  ought  to  be  with  us,  oughtn't  he?"  said  Sir  Harry. 

"  Of  course.    And  if  our  leader  had  an  ounce  of  zeal — " 

"  I'll  write  to  him  to-day,"  said  Sir  Harry. 

"Yes;  and  mind  you  persuade  him.  I  shall  be  so 
amused  to  see  what  Jan  Delane  says,  if  he  writes  us  a 
song." 

"He  won't  do  it." 

"  He  won't,  if  you  go  in  that  despairing  mood.  Now 
write  at  once.     Write  as  if  you  expected  it." 

The  outcome  of  this  conversation,  together  with  the  idea 
which  had  struck  the  squire,  was,  of  course,  that  Dale  re- 
ceived, almost  by  the  same  post,  an  urgent  request  for  a 
militant  Radical  ditty,  and  a  delicate,  but  very  nattering 
suggestion  that  it  would  be  most  agreeable  to  his  royal 
highness — indeed,  he  had  hinted  as  much  in  response  to 
Lord  Cransford's  question — to  find  the  loyalty  of  Denbor- 


94  A    CHANGE    OF    AIB. 

ough,  as  it  were,  crystallized  in  one  of  Mr.  Bannister's  un- 
dying productions.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Dale 
felt  a  grudge  against  the  Muses  for  their  endowment. 
Could  not  these  people  let  him  alone?  He  did  not  desire 
to  put  himself  forward;  he  only  asked  to  be  let  alone.  It 
was  almost  as  repugnant  to  him — at  least,  he  thought  it 
would  be — to  take  part  in  Lord  Cransford's  pageant,  as  it 
certainly  would  be  to  hear  the  Radicals  of  Denborough 
screeching  out  his  verses.  He  was  a  man  of  letters,  not  a 
politician,  and  he  thought  both  requests  very  uncalled  for. 
It  might  be  that  the  Grange  folks  had  some  claim  on 
him,  but  his  acquaintance  with  Sir  Harry  Fulmer  was  of 
the  slightest;  and  what  did  the  man  mean  by  talking  of 
his  "  well-known  views?"  He  was  as  bad  as  the  doctor 
himself.  Presently  Philip  Hume  came  in,  and  Dale  dis- 
closed his  perplexities. 

"  I  want  to  please  people,"  he  said,  "  but  this  is  rather 
strong. " 

"  Write  both/'  suggested  Philip. 

"  That  will  enrage  both  of  them." 
•    "  Then  write  neither." 

"  Really,  Phil,  you  might  show  some  interest  in  the 
matter." 

"I  am  preoccupied.  Have  you  been  in  the  town  to- 
day, Dale?" 

"No." 

"  Then  you  haven't  seen  Johnstone's  window?" 

"  Johnstone's  window?  What  does  Johnstone  want  with 
a  window?" 

"  Put  on  your  hat  and  come  and  see.  Yes,  come  along. 
It  concerns  you." 

They  walked  down  together  in  the  gathering  dusk  of 
the  afternoon,  and  when  they  came  near  Johnstone's,  they 
saw  his  window  lighted  with  a  blaze  of  gas,  and  a  little 
knot  of  curious  people  standing  outside.  The  window  was 
full  of  Dale's  books,  and  the  rows  of  green  volumes  were 
surmounted  by  a  large  placard — "  Dale  Bannister,  the 
poet  of  Denborough— Works  on  Sale  Here.  Ask  for  '  The 
Clarion,'  '  The  Arch  Apostates,'  '  Blood  for  Blood;'  " 
and  outside,  a  file  of  men  carried  boards  headed,  "  The 
Rights  of  the  People.  Read  Dale  Bannister!  No  more 
Kings!     No  more  Priests!    Read  Dale  Bannister!" 

A  curse  broke  from  Dale.     Philip  smiled  grimly. 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  95 

"  Who's  done  this?"  Dale  asked. 

Philip  pointed  to  a  solitary  figure  which  stood  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  road,  looking  on  at  the  spectacle.  It 
was  James  Roberts,  and  he  smiled  grimly,  in  his  turn, 
when  he  saw  the  poet  and  his  friend. 

"He  put  Johnstone  up  to  it, "  said  Philip.  "John- 
stone told  me  so." 

Dale  was  aflame.  He  strode  quickly  across  the  road  to 
where  the  doctor  stood,  and  said  to  him,  hotly: 

"  This  is  your  work,  is  it?"  The  doctor  was  jaunty  and 
cool  in  manner. 

"  No,  your  works,"  he  answered,  with  a  foolish,  exas- 
perating snigger.  "  Aren't  you  pleased  to  see  what  notice 
they  are  attracting?  I  was  afraid  they  were  being  forgot- 
ten in  Denborough. " 

"  God  only  knows,"  said  Dale,  angrily,  "  why  you  take 
pleasure  in  annoying  me;  but  I  have  borne  enough  of 
your  insolence." 

' '  Is  it  insolent  to  spread  the  sale  of  your  books?" 

"  You  will  make  your  jackal  take  those  books  down  and 
stop  his  infernal  posters,  or  I'll  thrash  you  within  an  inch 
of  your  life." 

"  Ah!"  said  Roberts,  and  his  hand  stole  toward  his 
breast-pocket. 

"  What  do  you  say?" 

"  I  say  that  if  I  can  make  a  wretched  snob  like  you  un- 
happy, it's  money  well  spent,  and  I'll  see  you  damned  be- 
fore I  take  the  books  down." 

Dale  grasped  his  walking-cane  and  took  a  step  forward. 
The  doctor  stood  waiting  for  him,  smiling  and  keeping  his 
hand  in  his  pocket. 

"Jim!" 

The  doctor  turned  and  saw  his  wife  at  his  side.  Dale 
fell  back,  lifting  his  hat,  at  the  sight  of  the  pale,  distressed 
face  and  clasped  hands. 

"Do  come  home,  dear!"  she  said,  with  an  appealing 
glance. 

Philip  took  Dale's  arm. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  let's  reason  with  Johnstone." 

Dale  allowed  himself  to  be  led  away,  not  knowing  that 
death  had  stared  him  in  the  face;  for  it  was  a  loaded  re- 
volver that  Roberts  let  fall  back  into  the  recesses  of  his 


96  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

pocket  when  his  wife's  touch  recalled  for  a  moment  his 
saner  sense. 

The  reasoning  with  Johnstone  was  not  a  success.  Dale 
tried  threats,  abuse,  and  entreaties,  all  in  vain.  At  last 
he  condescended  to  bribery,  and  offered  Johnstone  twice 
the  sum,  whatever  it  might  be,  which  he  had  received.  He 
felt  his  degradation,  but  the  annoyance  was  intolerable. 

The  alderman's  attitude,  on  receiving  this  offer,  was 
not  without  pathos.  He  lamented  in  himself  an  obstinate 
rectitude,  which  he  declared  had  often  stood  in  his  way  in 
business  affairs.  His  political  convictions,  engaged  as  they 
were  in  the  matter,  he  would  have  sacrified,  if  the  favor 
thereby  accorded  to  Mr.  Bannister  were  so  great  as  to  be 
measured  by  two  hundred  pounds;  but  he  had  passed  his 
word,  and  he  concluded  by  beseeching  Dale  not  to  tempt 
him  above  that  which  he  was  able. 

"  Take  it  away,  take  it  away,  sir,"  he  said  when  Dale 
held  a  pocket-book  before  his  longing  eyes.  "It  ain't 
right,  sir,  it  ain't  indeed — and  me  a  family  man." 

Dale  began  to  feel  the  guilt  of  the  tempter,  and  fell 
back  on  an  appeal  to  the  alderman's  better  feelings.  This 
line  of  argument  elicited  only  a  smile. 

"  If  I  won't  do  it  for  two  hundred  sovereigns,  does  it 
stand  to  reason,  sir,  as  I  should  do  it  to  obleege?" 

Dale  left  him  after  a  plain  statement  of  the  estimation 
in  which  he  held  him,  and  went  home,  yielding,  only  after 
a  struggle,  to  Philip's  representation  that  any  attempt  to 
bribe  the  sandwich-men  must  result  in  his  own  greater 
humiliation  and  discomfiture. 

Angry  as  Dale  was,  he  determined  not  to  allow  this  inci- 
dent to  turn  him  from  the  course  he  had  marked  out  for 
himself.  It  confirmed  his  determination  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  Sir  Harry's  Radical  song,  but  it  did  not  make 
him  any  the  more  inclined  to  appear  as  a  eulogist  of  roy- 
alty. Neutrality  in  all  political  matters  was  his  chosen 
course,  and  it  appeared  to  him  to  be  incomparably  the 
wisest  under  all  the  circumstances.  This  view  he  ex- 
pressed to  the  family  at  the  Grange,  having  walked  over 
for  that  purpose.  He  expected  to  meet  with  some  oppo- 
sition, but  to  his  surprise  the  squire  heartily  acquiesced. 

"  After  this  scandalous  business,"  he  said,  "you  must 
cut  the  Radicals  altogether.  Of  course,  Harry  Fulmer 
will  object  to  it  as  much  as  we  do,  but  he  must  be  respon- 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  9? 

sible  for  his  followers.  And  I  think  you're  quite  right  to 
let  us  alone,  too.  Why  should  you  literary  men  bother 
with  polities?"  * 

Dale  was  delighted  at  this  opinion,  and  at  Janet's  con- 
currence with  it. 

"  Then  I  dare  say  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  express  my 
feelings  to  Lord  Cransford;  if  he  thinks  fit,  he  can  let  the 
duke  know  them.-" 

The  squire's  face  expressed  surprise,  and  his  daughter's 
reflected  it. 

"But,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Delane,  "what  has 
Oransford's  'suggestion  to  do  with  politics?  The  throne  is 
above  politics." 

"  Surely,  Mr.  Bannister,"  added  Janet,  "  we  are  all 
loyal,  whatever  our  politics?  I'm  sure  Sir  Harry  himself 
is  as  loyal  as  papa." 

"  Come,  Bannister,  you  press  your  scruples  too  far. 
There  are  no  politics  in  this." 

Dale  was  staggered,  but  not  convinced. 

"  I'd  rather  not  put  myself  forward  at  all,"  he  said. 

The  squire  assumed  an  air  of  apolegetic  friendliness. 

"  I  know  you'll  excuse  me,  Bannister.  I'm  twice  your 
age  or  more,  and  I — well — I  haven't  been  so  lucky  as  you 
in  escaping  the  world  of  etiquette.  But,  my  dear  fellow, 
when  the  duke  sends  a  message — it  really  comes  to  that — 
it's  a  strongish  thing  to  say  you  won't  do  it.  Oh,  of  course 
you  can,  if  you  like — there's  no  beheading  nowadays;  but 
it's  not  very  usual." 

"  I  wish  Lord  Cransford  had  never  mentioned  me  to  the 
duke  at  all." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  wiser,"  the  squire  con- 
ceeded,  candidly;  "  but  Cransford  is  so  proud  of  anything 
that  brings  kudos  to  the  county,  and  he  could  no  more 
leave  you  out  than  he  could  the  institute  itself.  Well,  we 
mustn't  force  you.  Think  it  over — think  it  over.  I  must 
be  off.  No,  don't  you  go.  Stay  and  have  tea  with  the 
ladies;"  and  the  squire,  who,  as  has  been  previously  men- 
tioned, was  no  fool,  left  his  daughter  to  entertain  his 
guests. 

Janet  was  working  at  a  piece  of  embroidery,  and  she 
went  on  working  in  silence  for  a  minute  or  two.  Then  she 
looked  up,  and  said: 

4 


98  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  Tora  Smith  was  here  this  morning.  She'll  be  very 
disappointed  at  your  refusal  to  write  for  her  meeting. " 

"  Miss  Smith  has  no  claim  on  me,"  said  Dale,  stiffly. 
He  had  not  forgotten  Tora's  injurious  suspicions.  "  Be- 
sides, one  doesn't  do  such  things  simply  for  the  asking — 
not  even  if  it's  a  lady  who  asks.-" 

"  You  know,  I  don't  think  anybody  ought  to  ask — no, 
not  princes;  and  I  hope  you  won't  do  what  Lord  Crans- 
ford  wants  merely  because  you're  asked." 

"  Your  father  says  I  ought." 

"  Papa  wants  you  to  do  it  very  much." 

"  And  I  should  like  to  do  what  he  wants." 

"  I  should  like  you  to  do  what  he  wants,  but  not  be- 
cause he  wants  it,"  said  Janet. 

Dale  turned  round  to  her  and  said  abruptly: 

"  I'll  do  it,  if  you  want  me  to." 

Now,  this  was  flattering,  and  Janet  could  not  deny  that 
it  gave  her  pleasure;  but  she  clung  to  her  principles. 

'  I  don't  want  it — in  that  sense,"  she  answered.  "  I 
should  be  glad  if  it  seemed  to  you  a  right  thing  to  do;  but 
I  should  be  sorry  if  you  did  it,  unless  it  did." 

"  You  will  not  let  me  do  it  for  you?" 

"  No,"  she  answered,  smiling. 

"  You  have  no  pleasure  in  obedience?" 

"  Oh,  well,  only  in  willing  obedience,"  said  she,  with  a 
smile. 

"  It  would  be  very  willing — even  eager." 

"  The  motive  would  not  be  right.  But  how  absurd!  I 
believe — " 

"  Well,  what?" 

"  That  you  mean  to  do  it,  and  are  trying  to  kill  two 
birds  with  one  stone." 

"  You  don't  really  think  that,  Miss  Delane?" 

"  No,  of  course  not.  Only  you  were  becoming  so 
serious." 

"  May  I  not  be  serious?" 

"  It  isn't  serious  to  offer  to  take  important  steps  be- 
cause it  would  please  a  girl." 

"  Aren't  you  rather  contradicting  yourself?  You  called 
that  becoming  serious  just  now." 

"  If  I  am,  it  is  a  privilege  we  all  have." 

**  Girls,  you  mean?    Well,  you  refuse  to  help  me?" 

"Entirely."  r 


A    CHANGE    OF   AIR.  99 

"  Even  to  counteract  Miss  Smith's  illicit  influence?" 

M  I  shall  trust  to  your  own  sense  of  propriety." 

Dale  walked  home  grievously  puzzled.  A  small  mat- 
ter may  raise  a  great  issue,  and  he  felt,  perhaps  without 
full  reason,  that  he  was  at  the  parting  of  the  ways.  "  No 
more  Kings!  No  more  Priests!"  Or  "  An  Ode  to  H.  R. 
H.  the  Duke  of  Mercia  on  his  visit  to  Denborough!"  Dale 
ruefully  admitted  that  there  would  be  ground  for  a  charge 
of  inconsistency.  Some  would  talk  of  conversion,  some  of 
tergiversation;  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  which  ac- 
cusation would  be  the  more  odious.  There  was  clearly 
nothing  for  it  but  absolute  neutrality;  he  must  refuse  both 
requests.  Janet  would  understand  why;  of  course  she 
would,  she  must;  and  even  if  she  did  not,  what  was  that 
to  him?  The  throne  above  politics! — that  must  be  a  mere 
sophism;  there  could  not  be  anything  in  that.  No  doubt 
this  young  prince  was  not  morally  responsible  for  the  evils, 
but  he  personified  the  system,  and  Dale  could  not  bow 
the  knee  before  him.  If  it  had  been  possible — and  as  he 
went  he  began  idly  to  frame  words  for  an  ode  of  welcome. 
An  idea  or  two,  a  very  happy  turn,  came  into  his  head ; 
he  knew  exactly  the  tone  to  take,  just  how  far  to  go,  just 
the  mean  that  reconciles  deference  to  independence.  He 
had  the  whole  thing  mapped  out  before  he  recalled  to 
himself  the  thought  that  he  was  not  going  to  write  at  all, 
and  as  he  entered  his  own  garden  he  sighed  at  the  neces- 
sary relinquishing  of  a.  stately  couplet.  There  was  no 
doubt  that  work  of  that  class  opened  a  new  field,  a  hither- 
to virgin  soil,  to  his  genius.     It  was  a  great  pity. 

In  the  garden,  to  his  surprise,  he  came  on  Arthur 
Angell.  "  What  brings  you  here,  Arthur?"  he  said. 
"  Delighted  to  see  you,  though." 

Arthur  explained  that  he  had  run  down  at  Nellie  Fane's 
bidding.  Nellie  had  written  her  letter  of  earning  about 
the  doctor's  conspiracy,  but,  having  thus  relieved  her  mind, 
had  straightway  forgotten  all  about  her  letter,  and  it  had 
lain  unposted  in  her  pocket  for  a  week.  Then  she  found 
it,  and  sent  Arthur  off  in  haste  to  stop  the  mischief. 

"  It's  awfully  kind  of  Nellie,"  said  Dale;  "  but  I  don't 
suppose  it  would  have  been  of  any  use,  and  anyhow  it's 
too  late  now." 

"Yes,  so  Phil  told  me." 

"  A  dirty  trick,  isn't  it?" 


100  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it's  rather  rough  on  you,"  said 
Arthur,  struggling  between  principles  and  friendshi]},  and 
entirely  suppressing  his  own  privity  to  the  said  dirty  trick. 

"You'll  stay?" 

"  I've  got  no  clothes." 

"  Oh,  Wilson  will  see  to  that.     Come  in." 

Philip  met  them  at  the  door. 

"I've  a  message  for  you,  Dale,"  he  said.  "  The  ma- 
yor has  been  here."' 

"  And  what  may  the  mayor  want?" 

"  The  mayor  came  as  an  embassador.  He  bore  a  reso- 
lution from  the  town  council,  a  unanimous  resolution  {ah- 
sente  Johnstone  owing  to  pressure  in  the  bookselling  trade), 
begging  you  to  accede  to  the  lord  lieutenant's  request  and 
write  a  poem  for  the  duke." 

"Hang  the  town  council!"  exclaimed  Dale.  "  I  won- 
der why  nobody  will  let  me  alone!" 

Then  he  remembered  that  Miss  Delane  had  been  almost 
ostentatious  in  her  determination  to  let  him  alone.  If  he 
wrote,  they  could  not  say  that  he  had  written  to  please 
her.  But  he  was  not  going  to  write.  True,  it  would  have 
been  a  good  revenge  on  the  doctor,  and  it  would  have 
pleased — 

"  Shall  you  do  the  ode?"  asked  Philip  Hume. 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  Dale  in  a  resolute  tone. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

DALE  TRIES  HIS  HAND  AT  AN"  ODE. 

Dale's  preoccivpations  with  his  new  friends  had  thrown 
on  Philip  Hume  the  necessity  of  seeking  society  for  him- 
self, if  he  did  not  wish  to  spend  many  solitary  evenings  at 
Littlehill.  The  resources  of  Denborough  were  not  very 
great,  and  his  dissipation  generally  took  the  form  of  a 
quiet  dinner,  followed  by  a  rubber  of  whist,  at  Mount 
Pleasant.  The  colonel  and  he  suited  each  other,  and,  even 
if  Philip  had  been  less  congenial  in  temper,  the  colonel  was 
often  too  hard  put  to  it  for  a  fourth  player  to  be  nice  in 
scrutinizing  the  attractions  of  any  one  who  could  be  trusted 
to  answer  a  call  and  appreciate  the  strategy  of  a  long  suit. 
Even  with  Philip's  help  the  rubber  wras  not  a  brilliant 
one;  for  Tora  only  played  out  of  filial  duty,  and  Sir  Harry 


A    CHAKGt  'Of,  AIR1,  .  :    ,101 

came  in  to  join  because  it  was  better  to  be  with  Tora  over 
a  whist-table  than  not  to  be  with  her  at  all.  That  he 
thought  so  witnessed  the  intensity  of  his  devotion,  for  to 
play  whist  seemed  to  Sir  Harry  to  be  going  out  of  one's 
way  to  seek  trouble  and  perplexity  of  mind. 

On  the  evening  of  Arthur  AngelPs  arrival  the  usual 
party  had  dined  together  and  set  to  work.  Things  were 
not  going  well.  At  dinner  they  had  discussed  the  royal 
visit,  and  the  colonel  had  been  disgusted  to  find  that  his 
daughter,  unmindful  of  her,  or  rather  his,  principles,  was 
eager  to  see  and,  if  it  might  be,  to  speak  with  "  this  young 
whipper-snapper  of  a  prince. "  The  colonel  could  not  under- 
stand such  a  state  of  feeling,  but  Tora  was  firm.  All  the 
county  would  be  there  in  new  frocks;  she  had  ordered  a 
new  frock,  of  which  she  expected  great  things,  and  she 
meant  to  be  there  in  it;  it  would  not  do,  she  added,  for 
the  duke  to  think  that  the  Radicals  had  no  pretty  girls  on 
their  side.  The  colonel  impatiently  turned  to  Sir  Harry; 
but  Sir  Harry  agreed  with  Tora,  and  even  Philip  Hume 
announced  his  intention  of  walking  down  High  Street  to 
see,  not  the  prince,  of  course,  but  the  people  and  the  hu- 
mors of  the  day. 

"  Really,  colonel, "  he  said,  "  I  can  not  miss  the  mayor." 

"  Are  we  going  to  have  a  rubber  or  not?"  asked  the 
colonel  with  an  air  of  patient  weariness. 

They  sat  down,  Sir  Harry  being  his  host's  partner. 
Now,  »Sir  Harry  was,  and  felt  himself  to  be,  in  high  favor, 
owing  to  his  sound  views  on  the  question  of  the  day,  and 
he  was  thinking  of  anything  in  the  world  rather  than  the 
fall  of  the  cards.  Consequently  his  play  was  marked  by 
somewhat  more  than  its  ordinary  atrociousness,  and  the 
colonel  grew  redder  and  redder  as  every  scheme  he  cher- 
ished was  nipped  in  the  bud  by  his  partner's  blunders. 
Tora  and  Philip  held  all  the  cards,  and  their  good  fortune 
covered  Tora's  deficiency  in  skill,  and  made  Philip's  sound 
game  seem  a  brilliant  one. 

At  last  the  colonel  could  bear  it  no  longer.  He  broke 
up  the  party,  and  challenged  Philip  to  a  game  of  piquet. 

"  At  any  rate,  one  hasn't  a  partner  at  piquet,"  he  said. 

Sir  Harry  smiled,  and  followed  Tora  to  the  drawing- 
room.  With  such  rewards  for  bad  play,  who  would  play 
well?  He  sat  down  by  her  and  watched  her  making  spills. 
Presently  he  began  to  make  spills  too.     Tora  looked  at 


10^'.'  "') "<\X    CH^.^GK    OF    AIR. 

him.  Sir  Harry  made  a  very  bad  spill  indeed,  and  held 
it  up  with  a  sigh. 

"  That's  the  sort  of  thing,"  he  said,  "  I  have  to  light 
my  pipe  with  at  home!" 

"  As  you've  been  very  good  to-night,"  answered  Tora, 
"I'll  give  you  some  of  mine  to  take  with  you.  Let  me 
show  you  how  to  do  them  for  yourself." 

Then  ensued  trivialities  which  bear  happening  better 
than  they  do  recording — glances  and.  touches  and  affecta- 
tions of  stupidity  on  one  side  and  impatience  on  the  other 
— till  love's  ushers,  their  part  fulfilled,  stand  by  to  let 
their  master  speak,  and  the  hidden  seriousness,  which 
made  the  trifles  not  trifling,  leaps  to  sudden  light.  Before 
her  lover's  eager  rush  of  words,  his  glorifying  of  her,  his 
self-depreciation,  Tora  was  defenseless,  her  raillery  was 
gone,  and  she  murmured  nothing  but: 

"  You're  not  stupid — you're  not  dull.  Oh,  how  can 
you!"  Before  he  set  out  for  home  Philip  Hume  was  priv- 
ileged to  hear  the  fortunate  issue,  and  to  wonder  how  much 
happiness  two  faces  can  manage  to  proclaim.  Kindly  as 
the  little  family  party  took  him  into  their  confidence,  he 
hastened  away,  knowing  that  he  had  no  place  there.  Such 
joys  were  not  for  him,  he  thought,  as  he  walked  slowly 
from  the  door,  remembering  how  once  he  had  challenged 
impossibility,  and  laid  his  love  at  a  girl's  feet;  and  she, 
too,  had  for  a  moment  forgotten  impossibility;  and  they 
were  very  happy — for  a  moment;  then  they  recollected — 
or  had  it  recollected  for  them — that  they  were  victims  of 
civilization.  And  hence  an  end.  Philip  recalled  this  in- 
cident as  he  walked.  He  had  not  thought  of  it  for  a  long 
time,  but  the  air  of  Denborough  seemed  so  full  of  love  and 
love-making  that  he  spared  a  sigh  or  two  for  himself. 
Well  born  and  well  educated,  he  wrung  from  the  world,  by 
painful  labor,  some  three  or  four  hundred  pounds  a  year. 
It  was  enough  if  he  had  not  been  well  born  or  well  edu- 
cated; but  his  advantages  turned  to  disabilities,  and  he  saw 
youth  going  or  gone,  and  the  home  and  the  love  which  had 
been  so  confidently  assumed,  as  his  lot,  that  even  as  a  boy 
he  had  joked  and  been  joked  about  them,  fade  away  from 
his  picture  of  the  future,  and  he  was  only  kept  from  a 
sigh  of  self-pity  by  reminding  himself  of  the  ludicrous 
commonplaceness  of  his  grievance  against  fate.  He  knew 
men  so  situated  by  dozens,  and  nobody  thought  them  ill 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIK.  103 

used.  No  more  they  were,  lie  supposed;  at  least,  it  seemed 
nobody's  fault,  and,  in  view  of  sundry  other  sad  things  in 
the  world,  not  a  matter  to  make  a  fuss  about. 

He  found  Dale  in  high  spirits;  for  Dale  had  conceived  a 
benevolent  scheme,  by  which  he  was  to  make  two  of  his 
friends  happy — as  happy  as  Tora  Smith  and  Harry  Fulmer, 
the  news  of  whom  he  heard  with  the  distant  interest  to 
which  Tora's  by-gone  hostility  restricted  him.  He  and 
Arthur  Angell  had  dined  together,  smoked  together,  and 
drunk  whisky  and  water  together,  and  the  flood-gates  of 
confidence  had  been  opened;  a  thing  prone  to  occur  under 
such  circumstances,  a  thing  that  seems  then  very  natural, 
and  reserves  any  appearance  of  strangeness  for  next  morn- 
ing's cold  meditations.  Dale  had  chanted  Janet's  charms, 
and  Arthur  had  been  emboldened  to  an  antistrophe  in 
praise  of  Nellie  Fane.  It  was  a  revelation  to  Dale — a  de- 
lightful revelation.  It  would  be  ideally  suitable,  and  it 
was  his  pleasure  that  the  happy  issue  should  be  forwarded 
by  all  legitimate  means. 

"  Arthur's  going  to  stay,"  he  said;  "  and  I've  written 
to  Nellie  to  tell  her  to  come  down  with  her  mother." 

"Ah!" 

"  Of  course,  I've  said  nothing  about  Arthur.  I've  put 
it  on  the  royal  visit.  She'd  like  to  be  here  for  that  any- 
how; and  when  she's  here,  Arthur  must  look  out  for 
himself." 

"Why  couldn't  he  do  it  in  London?  They  live  on  the 
same  pair  of  stairs,"  objected  Philip. 

"  Oh,  London!  who  the  deuce  could  make  love  in  Lon- 
don?" asked  Dale,  in  narrow-minded  ignorance.  "Peo- 
ple's faces  are  always  dirty  in  London." 

Philip  smiled,  but  this  new  plan  seemed  to  him  a  bad 
one.  It  was  one  of  Dale's  graces  to  be  unconscious  of 
most  of  his  triumphs,  and  it  had  evidently  never  struck 
him  that  Nellie's  affections  would  offer  any  obstacle  to  the 
scheme,  or  cause  her  fatally  to  misinterpret  what  the 
scheme  was. 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  Philip,  "  that  she  is  more  likely  to 
be  captivated  by  our  young  friend  here  than  in  London." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  he's  at  work  there,  and  so  is  she. 
Here  they'll  have  nothing  else  to  do." 

While  Dale  chattered  over  his  great  idea,  Philip  pon- 
dered whether  to  interfere  or  not.     He  was  certain  that 


104  A    CHAKGE    OF    AIR. 

Nellie  had  been  fond,  not  of  Arthur  Angell,  but  of  Dale 
himself;  he  feared  she  would  think  her  invitation  came 
from  Dale's  own  heart,  not  in  favor  to  a  friend,  and  he 
suspected  the  kindness  would  end  in  joain.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  affections  change,  and  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
falling  back  on  the  good  when  the  better  is  out  of  reach; 
and,  finally,  there  is  a  sound  general  principle  that  where 
it  is  doubtful  whether  to  hold  one's  tongue  or  not,  one's 
tongue  should  be  held.     Philip  held  his. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said: 

"  If  this  goes  on,  a  bachelor  won't  be  safe  in  Denbor- 
ough.  What  have  you  been  doing?"  and  he  pointed  at 
some  scribbling  which  lay  on  the  table. 

Dale  flushed  a  little. 

"  Oh,  I've  just  been  trying  my  hand  at  that  little  thing 
they  want  me  to  do— you  know." 

"  For  the  Eadical  meeting?" 

"  No,  no.     For  the  Duke  of  Mercia's  visit." 

"Oh!     So  you're  going  to  do  it?" 

Dale  assumed  a  candid  yet  judicial  air. 

"If  I  find  I  can  say  anything  gracious  and  becoming, 
without  going  back  on  my  principles,  Phil,  I  think  I  shall. 
Otherwise  not." 

"  I  see,  old  fellow.     Think  you  will  be  able?" 

"  I  don't  intend  to  budge  an  inch  from  my  true  position 
for  anybody." 

"  Don't  be  too  hard  on  the  duke.     He's  a  young  man/' 

Dale  became  suspicious  that  he  was  being  treated  with 
levity;  he  looked  annoyed,  and  Philip  hastened  to  add: 

"  My  dear  boy,  write  your  poem,  and  never  mind  what 
people  tell  you  about  your  principles.  Why  shouldn't 
you  write  some  verses  to  the  young  man?" 

"  That's  what  I  say,"  replied  Dale,  eagerly.  "  It 
doesn't  compromise  me  in  the  least.  I  think  you're  quite 
right,  Phil." 

And  he  sat  down  again  with  a  radiant  expression. 

Philip  lighted  his  pipe,  and  drew  his  chair  near  the  fire, 
listening  idly  to  the  light  scratchings  of  the  writing  and 
the  heavy  scratchings  of  the  erasures. 

"  You  seem  to  scratch  out  a  lot,  Dale,"  he  remarked. 

"  A  thing's  no  good,"  said  Dale,  without  turning  round, 
"  till  you've  scratched  it  all  out  twice  at  least." 

"  It's  a  pity,  then,"  said  Philip,  pulling  at  his  pipe  and 


A    CHAKGE    OF    AIR.  105 

looking  into  the  fire,  "  that  we  aren't  allowed  to  treat  life 
like-  that." 

His  words  struck  a  chord  in  Dale's  memory.  He 
started  up,  and  repeated: 

"  The  moving  Finger  writes,  and  having  writ 
Moves  on,  nor  all  your  piety  nor  wit 
Can  lure  it  back  to  cancel  half  a  line, 
Nor  all  your  tears  wash  out  a  word  of  it." 

"  And  yet/'  said  Philip,  stretching  out  a  hand  to  the 
flickering  blaze,  "  we  go  on  being  pious  and  wise — some  of 
us;  and  we  go  on  crying — all  of  us." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

DELILAH      JOHK STOKE. 

Whek  it  became  known  to  Mr.  Delane  that  the  ode  of 
welcome  would  be  forthcoming — a  fact,  which,  without 
being  definitely  announced,  presently  made  its  way  into 
general  knowledge — he  felt  that  he  owed  Dale  Bannister  a 
good  turn.  The  young  man  was  obviously  annoyed  and 
hurt  at  the  aspect  of  Alderman  Johnstone's  window,  and 
the  squire  could  not,  moreover,  conceal  from  himself  that 
the  parade  of  the  alderman's  sandwich-men  on  the  day  of 
the  royal  visit  would  detract  from  the  unanimity  of  loyalty 
and  contentment  with  queen  and  constitution  which  he  felt 
Denborough  ought  to  display.  Finally,  his  wife  and  his 
daughter  were  so  strongly  of  opinion  that  something  must 
be  done  that  he  had  no  alternative  but  to  try  to  do  some- 
thing. Intimidation  had  failed;  the  alderman  intrenched 
himself  behind  his  lease;  and  Colonel  Smith's  open  tri- 
umph was  hardly  needed  to  show  the  squire  that  in  this 
matter  he  had  been  caught  napping.  Bribery  of  a  direct 
and  pecuniary  sort  was  apparently  also  of  no  avail,  and  the 
squire  was  driven  to  play  his  last  card  at  the  cost  of  great 
violence  to  his  own  feelings.  A  week  before  the  great  day 
he  sent  for  the  mayor  and  was  closeted  with  him  for  half 
an  hour.  The  mayor  came  out  from  the  conference  with 
an  important  air,  and,  on  his  way  home,  stopped  at  Alder- 
man Johnstone's  door.  The  poems,  placards,  and  posters 
were  still  prominently  displayed,  and  over  the  way  James 
Roberts,  in  his  well-worn  coat,  paced  up  and  down  on  his 
unwearying  patrol.     He  would  wait  days  rather  than  miss 


106  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

Dale,  in  case  the  poet  might  chance  to  pass  that  way.  He 
had  nothing  to  do,  for  no  one  sent  for  him  now;  he  had 
no  money,  and  could  earn  none;  therefore  his  time  was  his 
own,  and  he  chose  to  spend  it  thus,  forgetting  his  wife  and 
his  child,  forgetting  even  to  ask  how  it  happened  that 
there  was  still  food  and  fuel  in  his  house,  or  to  suspect 
what  made  him  so  often  see  Philip  Hume  walk  past  with 
an  inquiring  gaze  indifferently  concealed,  and  so  often 
meet  Dale's  servant,  Wilson,  carrying  baskets  up  and 
down  the  street  on  his  way  to  and  from  Littlehill. 

The  mayor  went  in  and  fell  into  conversation  with 
Johnstone.  He  spoke  of  the  glories  of  the  coming  day,  of 
his  own  new  gown,  and  of  Mrs.  Hedger's;  and  as  he  raised 
his  voice  in  enthusiastic  description,  Mrs.  Johnstone  stole  in 
from  the  back  parlor  and  stood  within  the  door.  The 
alderman  affected  scorn  of  the  whole  affair,  and  chuckled 
maliciously  when  the  mayor  referred  to  Dale  Bannister. 

"  Then,"  said  the  mayor,  "  after  the  institoot's  opened, 
there's  a  grand  luncheon  at  the  Grange,  with  the  duke, 
and  his  lordship,  and  the  squire,  and  all." 

He  paused;  the  alderman  whistled  indifferently,  and  his 
wife  drew  a  step  nearer.  The  mayor  proceeded,  bringing 
his  finest  rhetoric  into  play. 

"  The  crown,"  he  said,  "  the  county,  and  the  town  will 
be  represented." 

"  What,  are  you  going,  Hedger?"  asked  the  alderman, 
with  an  incredulous  laugh. 

"  The  squire  and  Mrs.  Delane  are  so  good  as  to  make  a 
point  of  me  and  Mrs.  Hedger  attendin' — in  state,  John- 
stone." 

"My!"  said  Mrs.  Johnstone,  moving  a  step  within  the 
door.     "  That'll  be  a  day  for  Susan." 

"  His  lordship  gives  Susan  his  arm,"  said  the  mayor. 

"  Ain't  there  any  more  going  from  the  town?"  asked 
Mrs.  Johnstone,  while  the  alderman  ostentatiously  occupied 
himself  with  one  of  his  posters. 

"  The  squire,"  replied  the  mayor,  "  did  want  another 
— there's  no  room  but  for  two — but  he  thinks  there's  no 
one  of  sufficient  standin' — not  as  would  do." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure!"  said  Mrs.  Johnstone. 

"You  see,  ma'am,"  pursued  the  mayor,  "we  must 
consider  the  lady.     The  lady  must  be  asked.    Now,  would 


A    CHANGE    OP    AIR.  107 

you  ask  Mrs.  Maggs,  or  Mrs.  Jenks,  or  Mrs.  Capper,  or 
any  o'  that  lot,  ma'am?" 

"  Sakes,  no!"  said  Mrs.  Johnstone,  scornfully. 

"  i  There  is  a  lady/  I  says  to  the  squire,  *  as  would  do 
honor  to  the  town,  but  there — the  man's  wrong  there!'  " 

Mrs.  Johnstone  came  nearer  still,  glancing  at  her  hus- 
band. 

"  When  I  mentioned  the  party  I  was  thinkin'  of,"  the 
mayor  went  on,  "  the  squire  slapped  bis  thigh,  and,  says 
he,  *  The  very  man  we  want,  Hedger,'  he  says;  '  all  parties 
ought  to  be  represented.  He's  a  Liberal — a  prominent 
Liberal;  so  much  the  better.  Now,  won't  he  come?' 
'  Well,'  says  I,  *  he's  an  obstinate  man;'  and  Mrs.  Delane 
says,  (  You  must  try,  Mr.  Mayor.  Say  what  pleasure  it 
'ud  give  me  to  see  him  and  Mrs.  Johnstone — '  There, 
I've  let  it  out!" 

A  pause  followed.  The  mayor  drew  a  card  from  his 
pocket.  It  was  headed,  "  To  have  the  honor  of  meeting 
H.  R.  H.  the  Duke  of  Mercia."  The  mayor  laid  it  on  the 
counter. 

"  There!"  he  said.  "  You  must  do  as  you  think  right, 
Johnstone.  Of  course,  if  you  like  to  go  on  like  this,  wor- 
ryin'  the  squire's  friends,  why,  it  isn't  for  you  to  put  your 
legs  under  the  squire's  ma'ogany.  So  the  squire  says. 
He  says,  '  Let  him  drop  that  nonsense,  and  come  and  be 
friendly — he  may  think  what  he  likes.'  " 

There  was  another  pause. 

"  There'll  have  been  nothin'  like  it  in  my  day/'  said 
the  mayor.     "  And  only  me  and  Susan  from  the  town!" 

"  There'll  be  plenty  ready  to  go,"  said  Johnstone. 

"  Ay,  that  they  will,  but  they  won't  have  the  askin\ 
Mrs.  Delane  says  there  ain't  a  soul  she'll  have,  except 
me  and  Susan,  and  you  and  Mrs.  Johnstone.  You  see, 
ma'am,  it  isn't  every  one  who  can  sit  down  with  the 
county." 

The  heart  of  Mrs.  Johnstone  was  alight  with  pride  and 
exultation  and  longing.  She  looked  at  her  husband  and 
she  looked  at  the  mayor. 

"  You  and  me  and  the  recorder  'ud  drive  up  in  the 
coach,"  said  the  mayor,  with  the  air  of  one  who  regret- 
fully pictures  an  impossible  ideal;  "  and  the  ladies — Mrs. 
Hedger  and  you,  ma'am — was  to  follow  in  a  carriage  and 
pair  with  a  postilion — his  lordship  'ud  send  one  for  ye." 


108  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  I'd  wear  my  ruby  velvet,"  murmured  Mrs.  Johnstone 
in  the  voice  of  soliloquy,  "  and  my  gold  earrings.''' 

"  Well,  I  must  be  goin',"  said  the  mayor.  (i  It's  a 
cryin'  shame  you  won't  come,  Johnstone.  What's  that 
mad  feller  Roberts  to  you?" 

"  A  dirty  villain  as  starves  his  wife!"  ejaculated  Mrs. 
Johnstone,  with  sudden  violence. 

The  alderman  looked  up  with  a  start. 

"  Take  a  day  to  think  it  over,"  said  the  mayor.  "  Take 
a  day,  ma'am;"  and  he  disappeared  with  a  smile  on  his 
shrewd,  good-tempered  face. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  after  he  went.  The 
alderman  sat  in  his  chair,  glancing  at  his  wife  out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye.  Mrs.  Johnstone  gazed  fixedly  at  the 
shop- window.  The  alderman  looked  at  her  again;  she 
was,  he  thought  (with  much  justice),  a  fine  woman;  she 
would  look  well  in  the  ruby  velvet  and  the  gold  earrings, 
and  the  swells  would  wonder  where  old  Johnstone  picked 
up  that  strapping  young  woman — for  she  was  his  junior  by 
twenty  years.  The  alderman  sighed,  and  looked  down 
again  at  his  poster. 

Presently  Mrs.  Johnstone  stole  quietly  toward  the  win- 
dow, the  alderman  covertly  watching  her.  When  she 
reached  it,  she  threw  a  coquettish  glance  over  her  shoulder 
at  her  elderly  husband;  did  she  not  know,  as  well  as  he, 
that  she  was  a  fine  young  woman? 

Then  she  began  to  take  Dale  Bannister's  books  out  of 
their  place,  piling  them  behind  the  counter,  and  to  tear 
down  the  bills  and  placards.  The  alderman  sat  and 
watched  her  till  she  had  finished  her  task.  Then  he  rose 
and  thundered : 

"  Put  them  things  back,  Sally!  Do  you  'ear  me?  I  ain't 
going  to  be  made  a  fool  of." 

Probably  Mrs.  Johnstone  was  not  so  sure.  She  biu/st 
into  tears  and  flung  her  arms  round  the  alderman's  neck. 

"  There!  what's  there  to  cry  about?"  said  he,  drawing 
her  on  to  his  knee. 

While  the  mayor  was  still  in  the  shop,  James  Roberts 
had  gone  home  to  his  midday  meal.  He  eat  it  with  good 
appetite,  not  knowing  who  had  paid  for  it,  and  not 
noticing  his  wife's  terror  lest  he  should  ask  her.  After 
the  meal  he  went  to  his  study  and  read  some  of  Dale's  poe- 
try, declaiming  it  loudly  and  with  fury,  while  Ethel  list- 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  109 

ened  with  the  horror  that  had  begun  to  gain  on  her  in- 
creasing and  increasing  as  she  listened.  She  was  afraid  of 
him  now — afraid  most  for  him,  but  also  for  the  child  and 
herself;  and  she  thanked  Heaven  every  time  he  went  out 
peacefully,  and  again  when  he  came  back  unhurt. 

It  was  about  four  wheD  the  doctor  took  his  hat  and 
walked  down  the  street  to  resume  his  patrol.  To  his 
amazement,  the  window  was  bare,  the  books  gone,  the 
placards  and  posters  all  torn  down.  With  an  oath  he 
rushed  into  the  shop,  and  found  the  alderman  sitting  be- 
hind a  pile  of  volumes,  on  the  top  of  which  lay  an  enve- 
lope addressed  to  himself. 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  this?"  gasped  the  doctor,  and 
as  he  spoke  the  glass  door  which  led.  to  the  parlor  opened 
a  little  way. 

"  It  means,  doctor,  that  I've  had  enough  of  it." 

"  Enough  of  it?" 

"  Yes.  Mr.  Bannister  ain't  done  me  any  'arm,  and  I'm 
not  going  to  fret  him  any  more." 

"  You  scoundrel!"  shrieked  the  maddened  man;  "  you 
thief!  you  took  my  money — you — " 

"  There's  your  books,  and  there  in  the  envelope  you'll 
find  your  'undred  pound.     Take  'em  and  get  out!" 

"  So  Bannister  has  been  at  you?"  sneered  Roberts. 

"  I  ain't  seen  'im." 

"Ah!" 

He  was  quiet  now,  the  cold  fit  was  on  him.  He  took  no 
notice  of  the  books,  but  put  the  envelope  in  his  pocket  and 
turned  to  go,  saying: 

"  You  think  you  can  stop  my  revenge,  you  pitiful  fool; 
you'll  see!" 

Johnstone  gave  himself  a  shake. 

"  I'm  well  out  of  that,"  he  said.  "  I  b'lieve  he's 
crazy.     Sally,  where  are  you?" 

Sally  came,  and  no  doubt  the  alderman  gained  the  re- 
ward of  the  righteous,  in  whose  house  there  is  peace. 

When  the  squire  received  an  acceptance  of  his  invitation 
from  Alderman  and  Mrs.  Johnstone,  he  became  more  than 
ever  convinced  that  every  Radical  was  at  heart  a  snob. 
Perhaps  it  would  have  been  fair  to  remember  that  most  of 
them  are  husbands.  Be  that  as  it  may,  his  scheme  had 
worked.  The  posters,  the  books,  and  the  sandwich-men 
were  gone.    There  was  nothing  now  to  remind  Denborough 


110  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

that  it  harbored  a  revolutionist.  What  was  more  important 
still,  there  was  nothing  to  remind  Dale  Bannister  of  the  in- 
discretions of  his  past.  He  might  now  read  his  ode,  un- 
blushing, in  High  Street,  and  no  placard  would  scream  in 
ill-omened  reminder:  "  No  more  Kings  1" 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A      WELL-PAID      POEM. 

Among  the  quieter  satisfactions  of  life  must  be  ranked 
in  a  high  place  the  peace  of  a  man  who  has  made  up  his 
mind.  He  is  no  longer  weighing  perplexing  possibilities, 
but,  having  chosen  his  path,  feels  that  he  has  done  all  that 
can  be  done,  and  that  this  conviction  will  enable  him  to 
bear  with  patience  the  outcome  of  his  determination,  what- 
ever it  may  be.  Of  course  he  is  wrong,  and  if  misfortune 
comes,  his  philosophy  will  go  to  the  wall,  but  for  the  mo- 
ment it  seems  as  if  fate  can  not  harm  him,  because  he  has 
set  his  course  and  bidden  defiance  to  it. 

Dale  had  made  up  his  mind  to  disregard  cavilers,  not  to 
write  the  Radical  ditty,  to  write  the  ode  of  welcome,  and, 
lastly,  to  follow  whither  his  inclination  led.  And,  on  the 
top  of  these  comforting  resolutions,  came  the  removal  of 
his  thorn  in  the  flesh — Johnstone's  be-pJacarded  shop  win- 
dow— and  the  glow  of  well-rewarded  benevolence  with 
which  he  had  witnessed  Nellie  Fane's  ill-concealed  delight 
in  her  return  to  Littlehill  and  Arthur  Angell's  openly  de- 
clared pleasure  in  greeting  her.  Dale  began  to  think  that 
he  had  too  easily  allowed  himself  to  be  put  out,  and  had 
been  false  to  his  poetic  temperament  by  taking  trifles 
hardly.  He  was  jocund  as  he  walked,  and  nature  responded 
to  his  mood:  the  sun  shone  bright  and  warm  on  him,  and 
the  spring  air  was  laden  with  pleasant  hints  of  coming 
summer.  He  wondered  how  and  why,  a  few  weeks  ago, 
he  had  nearly  bidden  a  disgusted  farewell  to  Market  Den- 
borough. 

Now,  when  a  man  sets  out  in  such  a  mood,  being  a 
young  man,  and  a  man,  as  they  used  to  say,  of  sensibility, 
next  to  anything  may  happen.  From  his  contented  medi- 
tations on  the  happy  arrangement  he  had  made  for  his 
friends,  Dale's  thoughts  traveled  on  to  his  own  affairs. 
He  was  going  to  the  Grange — he  was  always  going  to  the 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIE.  Ill 

Grange  now,  and  lie  seemed  always  welcome  there.  Mrs. 
Delane  was  kind,  the  squire  was  effusive,  and  Janet — 
Here  his  thoughts  became  impossible  to  record  in  lowly 
prose.  The  goddess  had  become  flesh  for  him;  still  stately 
and  almost  severe  in  her  maiden  reserve  to  all  others,  as 
she  had  once  been  to  him,  now  for  him  she  smiled  and 
blushed,  and  would  look,  and  look  away,  and  look  again, 
and  vainly  summon  her  tamed  pride  to  hide  what  her  de- 
light proclaimed.  It  was  sudden.  Oh,  yes;  anything 
worth  having  was  sudden,  thought  lucky  Dale.  Fame  had 
been  sudden,  wealth  had  been  sudden.  Should  not  love 
be  sudden  too? 

"  If  I  get  a  chance — "  said  Dale  to  himself,  and  he 
smiled  and  struck  at  the  weeds  with  his  stick,  and  hummed 
a  tune.     Anything  might  happen. 

The  prince  was  due  in  three  days,  and  already  flags  and 
triumphal  arches  were  beginning  to  appear.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  the  demand  for  drugs  was  small,  for  Mr. 
Hedger  was  to  be  found  everywhere  but  behind  his  own 
counter,  and  Alderman  Johnstone,  having  once  taken  the 
plunge,  was  hardly  less  active  in  superintending  the  prep- 
arations. The  men  who  had  carried  those  obnoxious 
boards  were  now  more  worthily  earning  their  bread  by 
driving  in  posts  and  nailing  up  banners,  and  Dale  saw  that 
Denborough  was  in  earnest,  and  meant  to  make  the  recep- 
tion a  notable  testimony  to  its  loyalty.  He  loitered  to 
watch  the  stir  for  a  little  while,  for  it  was  early  afternoon, 
and  he  must  not  arrive  at  the  Grange  too  sood.  Not  even 
the  ode  itself,  which  he  carried  in  his  pocket,  could  excuse 
an  intrusion  on  the  squire's  midday  repose.  As  he  stood 
looking  on  he  was  accosted  by  Dr.  Spink. 

"  I  have  just  been  to  see  Roberts/'  he  said. 

"  Is  he  ill?" 

"  Yes.  His  wife  sent  for  me.  As  you  may  suppose, 
she  would  not  have  done  so  for  nothing." 

"  What's  the  matter?" 

"  I  don't  like  his  state  at  all.  He  took  no  notice  of  me, 
but  lay  on  his  bed,  muttering  to  himself.  I  think  he's  a 
little  touched  here;"  and  the  doctor  put  a  finger  just 
under  the  brim  of  his  well-brushed  hat. 

"  Poor  chap!"  said  Dale.  "  I  should  like  to  go  and  see 
him." 

Spink  discouraged  any  such  idea. 


112  A    CHANGE    OP    AIB. 

"  You're  the  very  last  person  he  ought  to  see.  I  want 
him  to  go  away." 

"  Has  he  got  any  money?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.     His  wife  told  me  he  had  now." 

"  And  won't  he  go?" 

"  He  says  he  must  stay  till  after  the  15th  " — the  15th 
was  the  great  day — "  and  then  he  will  go.  That's  the  only 
word  I  could  get  out  of  him.  I  told  his  wife  to  let  me 
know  at  once  if  there  was  any  change  for  the  worse." 

"It's  hard  on  her,  poor  little  woman,"  said  Dale,  pass- 
ing on  his  way. 

He  found  Tora  Smith  and  Sir  Harry  at  the  Grange. 
Rather  to  his  surprise,  Tora  greeted  him  with  friendly 
cordiality,  accepting  his  congratulations  very  pleasantly. 
He  had  expected  her  to  show  some  resentment  at  his  re- 
fusal to  write  a  song  for  her,  but  in  Tora's  mind  songs  and 
poets,  Liberal  meetings,  and  even  royal  visits,  had  been, 
for  the  time  at  least,  relegated  to  a  distant  background  of 
entire  unimportance.  Captain  Ripley  was  there  also,  with 
the  ill-used  air  that  he  could  not  conceal,  although  he  was 
conscious  that  it  only  aggravated  his  bad  fortune.  He 
took  his  leave  a  very  few  minutes  after  Dale  arrived ;  for 
what  pleasure  was  there  in  looking  on  while  everybody 
purred  over  Dale,  and  told  him  his  ode  was  the  most  mag- 
nificent tribute  ever  paid  to  a  youthful  prince?  Dale,  in 
his  heart,  thought  the  same — so  does  a  man  love  what  he 
creates — but  he  bore  his  compliments  with  a  graceful  out- 
ward modesty. 

The  afternoon  was  so  unseasonably  fine — such  was  the 
reason  given — that  Janet  and  he  found  themselves  walking 
in  the  garden,  she  talking  merrily  of  their  prejDarations,  he 
watching  her  fine,  clear-cut  profile,  and,  as  she  turned  to 
him  in  talk,  the  gay  dancing  of  her  eyes. 

"  Your  doing  it,"  she  said,  "  just  makes  the  whole  thing 
perfect.  How  can  we  thank  you  enough,  Mr.  Bannister?" 
'  "  The  captain  did  not  seem  to  care  about  my  verses," 
Dale  remarked,  with  a  smile. 

Janet  blushed  a  little,  and  gave  him  a  sudden  glance — a 
glance  that  was  a  whole  book  of  confidences,  telling  what 
she  never  could  have  told  in  words,  what  she  never  would 
have  told  at  all,  did  not  the  eyes  sometimes  outrun  their 
mandate  and  speak  unbidden  of  the  brain. 

Dale  smiled  again — this  time  in  triumph. 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIK.  113 

"  You  like  them?"  he  asked,  softly,  caressing  the  little 
words  with  his  musical,  lingering  tones. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  once  more  for 
a  moment,  and  then  hastily  away. 

"  I'll  write  you  a  volume  twice  as  good,  if — I  may." 

"  Twice  as  good?"  she  echoed,  with  a  laugh.  "  Now, 
honestly,  don't  you  think  these  perfect  yourself." 

"  They  are  good — better  than  any  I  wrote  before  " — he 
paused  to  watch  her  face,  and  went  on  in  a  lower  voice — 
*'  I  knew  you;  but  I  shall  do  better  the  more  I  know  you 
and  the  better." 

Janet  had  no  light  answer  ready  now.  Her  heart  was 
beating,  and  she  had  much  ado  not  to  bid  him  end  her 
sweet,  unbearable  excitement. 

They  had  reached  the  end  of  the  terrace  and  passed  into 
the  wood  that  skirted  it  to  the  west.  Suddenly  she  made 
a  movement  as  if  to  turn  and  go  back. 

"No,  no,"  he  whispered  in  her  ear;  and,  as  she  wav- 
ered, he  caught  her  by  the  arm,  and,  without  words  of 
asking  or  of  doubt,  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her. 

"  My  beauty,  my  queen,  my  love!"  he  whispered. 
"  You  love  me,  you  love  me!" 

She  drew  back  her  head,  straightening  the  white  column 
of  her  neck,  while  her  hands  held  his  shoulders.  "  Ah,  I 
would  die  for  you!"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Delane  was  a  woman  c£  penetration.  Though 
Janet  told  her  nothing  of  what  had  occurred — for  she  and 
Dale  agreed  to  let  the  matter  remain  a  secret  till  the  im- 
pending festivities  were  over — yet,  Mrs.  Delane  saw  some- 
thing in  her  daughter's  air  which  made  her,  that  same 
evening,  express  to  the  squire  her  doleful  conviction  that 
the  worst  had  happened. 

"  I  shall  say  nothing  to  Janet,"  she  said,  "  till  she 
speaks  to  me.  I  can  trust  her  absolutely.  But  I  am  afraid 
of  it,  George.     Poor  Gerard  Ripley!" 

"  My  dear,  I'm  not  going  to  break  my  heart  about 
Gerard  Ripley.     I  think  more  of  Jan." 

"  Well,  of  course,  so  do  I.  And  I  don't  at  all  like  it. 
He's  not — well,  not  our  sort,  as  the  young  people  say." 

"  Mary,  you're  talking  slang.  What's  the  matter  with 
him?    The  match  will  make  Jan  famous." 

"  Well,  well,  I  don't  like  it;  but  you  must  have  your 
way." 


114  A    CHANGE    OF    AIE. 

"  It's  not  my  way.  It's  Jan's  way.  Is  she  fond  of 
him?" 

"  Terribly,  I'm  afraid,  poor  child!" 

The  squire  became  a  little  irritated  at  this  persistently 
sorrowful  point  of  view. 

"  Really,  my  clear,  why  shouldn't  she  be  fond  of  him? 
It's  not  a  bad  thing  when  j:>eoi3le  are  going  to  marry." 

"  I  wish  I'd  seen  it  in  time  to  sto]}  it." 

"  On  the  whole,  Mary,  I'm  rather  glad  you  didn't.  I 
like  the  young  fellow." 

In  this  state  of  things — with  the  lady  eagerly  consenting, 
and  a  father  all  but  ready  to  urge  her  on — well  might  Cap- 
tain Ripley  ride  recklessly  home  from  Dirkhani  Grange, 
cursing  the  ways  of  women  and  the  folly  of  men,  and 
promising  himself  to  go  to  India  and  there  be  killed,  to  the 
end  that  his  tragic  fate  might  bring  a  pang  to  Janet's 
heart  in  future  days.  Well  might  he  discover  a  sudden 
recall,  and  return  to  his  regiment,  escaping  the  Denbor- 
ough  celebrations,  and  risking  offense  in  exalted  quarters. 
So  he  went;  and  nobody  at  Denborough  thought  any  more 
about  him — not  even  Janet,  for  joy  swallows  up  pity,  and 
the  best  of  humanity  are  allowed,  without  reproach,  to  be 
selfish  once  or  twice  in  life. 

That  same  night,  at  dinner  at  Littlehill,  Nellie  Fane 
thought  Dale  had  never  been  so  bright,  so  brilliant,  or  so 
merr}^.  Under  his  leadership,  the  fun  and  mirth  waxed 
fast  and  furious,  till  it  carried  away  her  doubts  and  fears, 
and  Angell's  sore  wonderings  why  she  looked  always  at 
Dale  and  never  at  him,  and  Philip's  troubled  forebodings 
of  sorrows  no  friendly  hand  could  avert.  Dale's  high  spirits 
bore  no  check  and  suffered  no  resistance,  and  there  was 
a  tumult  in  Littlehill,  such  as  had  not  been  heard  since  its 
early,  indecorous  days. 

Suddenly,  into  this  scene,  followed  hastily  by  Wilson, 
there  broke,  hatless  and  cloakless,  Ethel  Roberts,  her  face 
pale  and  her  eyes  w7ide  with  fear.  Running  to  Philip  Hume, 
she  cried: 

' '  My  husband !  He  has  gone,  he  has  gone !  We  can 
not  find  him.  He  has  gone,  and  taken  the  pistol  with 
him.     What  shall  I  do?    Oh,  what  shall  I  do?" 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  115 


CHAPTER  XX. 


The  next  morning,  Roberts'  friends  held  an  anxious 
conference.  The  doctor,  being  left  alone  while  his  wife 
went  out  on  household  affairs,  had,  it  seemed,  risen  from 
bed,  dressed  himself,  and  left  the  house.  He  had  taken  a 
few  pounds,  part  of  what  Johnstone  had  returned  to  him, 
but  no  luggage.  Nothing  was  gone  except  his  revolver, 
which  had  lain  on  the  mantel-piece,  his  wife  having  feared 
to  take  it  away.  In  the  absence  of  other  explanation,  it 
seemed  most  probable  that  he  had  suddenly  determined  to 
return  to  London,  and  Dr.  Spink  thought  London  the  best 
place  to  look  for  him.  Accordingly,  Philip  Hume  at  once 
started  in  pursuit;  for  all  felt,  though  none  of  them  liked 
to  express  the  feeling,  that  Roberts  was  not  in  a  state  in 
which  he  could  safely  be  trusted  to  look  after  himself.  His 
wife  was  helpless  with  grief  and  bewilderment,  and  kindly 
Mrs.  Hodge  determined  to  spend  the  day  with  her,  and 
return  to  Littlehill  only  late  in  the  evening;  thus  at  least 
proper  attention  would  be  secured  to  the  helpless  child 
and  its  hardly  less  helpless  mother. 

Not  even  these  troubles  could  keep  Dale  from  the 
Grange,  and  after  dinner,  with  an  ajDology  to  Nellie  and 
Arthur,  he  announced  his  intention  of  strolling  over  to 
ask  the  squire  at  what  point  in  the  proceedings  his  ode 
was  to  come.  Nellie  had  a  letter  to  write,  or  said  she 
had,  and  Arthur  Angell  offered  to  bear  Dale  company  part 
of  the  way,  with  a  cigar. 

The  two  men  set  out  together,  and  Arthur  did  not  leave 
his  friend  till  they  were  "at  the  Grange  drive.  Then  he 
sauntered  back,  humming  snatches  of  song  between  his 
puffs  of  smoke,  and  rejoicing  in  the  glory  of  a  full  moon. 
He  had  almost  reached  the  gate  of  Littlehill,  when,  to  his 
surprise,  he  saw,  a  few  yards  from  him,  a  figure  that 
seemed  familiar.  He  caught  sight  of  it  only  for  a  moment, 
for  the  trees  then  came  between;  and  yet  he  felt  almost 
sure  that  the  stealthily  moving  form  was  that  of  James 
Roberts.  He  stood  watching  to  see  him  again,  but  he 
did  not;  and,  going  into  the  house,  he  told  Nellie  what  he 
thought  he  had  seen, 


116  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"Doctor  Roberts  going  toward  the  Grange!"  she  ex- 
claimed.    "  You  must  be  mistaken. " 

"  1  don't  think  so.     It  looked  like  him." 

Nellie  was  not  inclined  to  think  he  could  be  right,  but 
she  agreed  that  Arthur  had  better  go  and  tell  Dr.  Spink  of 
his  suspicions.  Arthur  went  off  on  his  errand,  and  she 
sat  by  the  fire  alone. 

Abandoning  herself  to  reverie,  she  idly  and  sadly  re- 
viewed the  events  of  the  days  since  her  return.  How  joy- 
fully she  had  come !  But  it  had  hardly  been  as  good  as 
she  hoped.  Dale  was  very  kind,  when  he  was  there.  But 
why  did  he  leave  her  so  much — leave  her  to  Arthur  An- 
gell?  And  ah,  why  did  he  go  so  much  to  the  Grange?  It 
was  all  far  pleasanter  before  he  came  to  Denborough,  be- 
fore he  knew  these  great  people — yes,  and  before  this  Dr. 
Roberts  was  there  to  worry  them.  The  thought  of  Roberts 
carried  her  mind  in  a  new  direction.  What  a  strange  man 
he  was!  And  his  poor  wife!  She  could  not  think  why  he 
had  become  so  odd  and  so  unfriendly.  Yet  it  was  so.  He 
seemed  absolutely  to  hate  Dale;  she  had  seen  him  look  at 
him  so  fiercely.  Dale  had  not  ruined  him;  he  had  ruined 
himself.  He  was  mad  to  blame  Dale.  Ah,  wasn't  he 
mad?  She  sat  up  suddenly  in  her  chair.  What  if  Arthur 
were  right?  What  if  it  were  he?  Why  was  he  going  to 
the  Grange!  Dale  was  there.  What  was  that  they  said 
about  a  pistol?    Ah — if — 

Without  another  thought  she  rose,  and  as  she  was,  in 
her  evening-dress  and  thin  shoes,  she  ran  out  of  the  house 
and  along  the  wooded  road  toward  the  Grange.  A  terrible 
idea  was  goading  her  on.  He  was  mad;  he  hated  Dale; 
he  had  a  revolver  with  him.  Oh,  could  she  be  in  time? 
They  would  wonder  at  her.  What  did  that  matter?  Her 
love,  her  lord  was — or  might  be — in  danger.  She  pressed 
on,  till  she  panted  and  had  to  pause,  then,  with  breath 
but  half  recovered,  over  rough  and  smooth  ground,  know- 
ing no  difference,  she  sped  on  her  way. 

Dale's  talk  with  the  squire  was  not  long;  but  the 
squire's  daughter  came  to  the  door  to  bid  him  good-night, 
and  was  easily  persuaded  to  walk  a  little  way  down  the 
drive  with  him.  She  went  further  than  she  meant,  as  was 
natural  enough;  ior  she  was  leaning  on  his  arm,  and  he 
was  telling  her,  in  that  caressing  voice  of  his,  that  all  his 


A    CHANGE    OP    AIK.  11? 

life  and  heart  and  brain  and  power  were  hers,  and  lavish- 
ing sweet  words  on  her. 

"  I  must  go  back,  Dale,"  she  said.  "  They  will  wonder 
what  has  become  of  me." 

"  Not  yet." 

"Yes,  I  must." 

"  Ah,  my  darling,  how  soon  will  it  be  when  we  need 
never  part?  How  soon?  I  mean  how  long,  till  then?  Do 
you  love  me?" 

"You  know,  Dale." 

"  What  was  it  you  said  the  other  day — was  it  only  yes- 
terday?— that  you  would  die  for  me?" 

"Yes." 

"  Ah,  Jan,  my  sweetest  Jan,  that  you  should  say  that  to 
me!" 

They  said  no  more,  but  did  not  part  yet.  At  last  he 
suffered  her  to  tear  herself  away. 

"  I  shall  run  back  through  the  shrubbery,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"I  shall  wait." 

"  Yes,  wait.  When  I  get  in,  I  will  show  you  a  light 
from  my  window.     A  good-night  light,  Dale." 

She  sped  away  down  a  side-path,  and  Dale  leaned 
against  a  tree,  in  the  moonlight,  fixing  his  lovelorn  eyes 
on  the  window. 

As  Janet  turned  down  her  path,  she  rushed,  in  her 
rapid  flight,  against  a  man  who  stood  there  in  lurking. 

Dale's  side  was  to  him,  but  he  was  watching  Dale,  with 
a  sneering  smile  on  his  lips.  When  she  saw  him,  she 
started  back.  In  a  moment  he  seized  her  shoulder  with 
one  hand,  and  pressed  a  pistol  to  her  head. 

"  If  you  make  a  sound,  I'll  kill  you!"  he  hissed. 
"  Don't  stir — don't  scream!" 

She  was  paralyzed  with  surprise  and  fright.  It  was 
Roberts,  and — what  did  he  mean? 

He  pushed  her  slowlv  before  him,  the  revolver  still  at 
her  head,  till  they  reached  the  drive.  Dale's  eyes  were 
set  on  his  mistress's  window,  and  their  feet  made  no  noise 
on  the  grass  edges  of  the  drive.  Roberts  gave  a  low  laugh, 
and  whispered  in  her  ear: 

"  He  came  to  see  you,  did  he?  The  traitor!  Not  a 
sound!  Wait  till  he  turns!  wait  till  he  turns!  I  want 
him  to  see  me.     When -he  turns,  I  shall  shoot  himl" 


118  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

At  last  she  understood.  The  madman  meant  to  kill 
Dale. 

He  would  kill  him  before  Dale  could  defend  himself. 
She  must  warn  him — at  any  cost,  she  must  warn  him.  If 
it  cost  her — 

"  Not  a  sound!"  hissed  Roberts.  "  A  sound,  and  you 
are  dead;  your  head  blown  to  bits — blown  to  bits!"  And 
again  he  laughed,  but  noiselessly. 

It  was  her  life  against  his.  Ah,  she  must  warn  him — 
she  must  cry  out!  >  But  the  cold  barrel  pressed  against  her 
temple,  and  the  madman's  voice  hissed  in  her  ear: 

"  Blown  to  bits — blown  to  bits!" 

She  couldn't  die,  she  couldn't  die!  not  like  that — not 
blown  to  bits!  Perhaps  he  would  miss;  Dale  might  escape. 
She  couldn't  die! 

He  advanced  a  little  nearer,  keeping  on  the  grass  edge 
and  pushing  her  before  him,  still  whispering  to  her  death 
and  its  horrors  if  she  made  a  sound.  It  was  too  horrible; 
she  could  not  bear  it.  Ah!  he  was  measuring  the  dis- 
tance. She  must  cry  out!  She  opened  her  lips.  Quick 
as  thought,  he  pressed  the  barrel  to  her  head.  She  could 
not,  could  not  do  it;  and,  with  a  groan,  she  sunk,  a  seTise- 
less  heap,  on  the  ground  at  his  feet. 

Suddenly  a  shot  rang  out,  and  a  woman's  cry.  Dale 
started  from  his  reverie,  to  see  a  woman  a  step  or  two  from 
him — a  woman,  tottering,  swaying,  falling  forward  on  her 
face,  as  he  rushed  to  support  her  in  his  arms. 

There  was  a  shout  of  men's  voices,  and,  following  on  it, 
another  report,  and  James  Eoberts  fell  beside  Janet  De- 
lane,  his  head,  as  he  had  said,  blown  to  bits;  and  two 
panting  men,  who  had  run  all  the  way  from  Denborough, 
were  raising  Janet  and  looking  if  she  were  dead,  and  then 
laying  her  down  again  and  turning  to  where  Nellie  Fane 
lay  in  lifeless  quiet  in  Dale's  arms. 

"  A  minute  sooner  and  we  should  have  been  in  time," 
said  Arthur  Angell  to  Dr.  Spink,  as  the  doctor  pushed 
Dale  aside  and  knelt  over  Nellie. 

And  Dale,  relieved,  ran  at  all  his  speed  to  where  Janet 
lay  and  threw  himself  on  his  knees  beside  her, 
"  My  love,  open  your  e}res!"  he  cried. 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  119 


CHAPTER  XXL 

"the  othee  giel  did." 

On-  the  afternoon  of  the  morrow,  Philip  Hume,  who, 
summoned  by  a  telegram  from  Dr.  Spink,  had  come  down 
to  Denborough  by  the  first  train  he  could  catch,  put  on  his 
hat,  and,  lighting  his  pipe,  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the 
road  that  ran  by  Littlehill.  Since  his  coming  he  had  been 
in  the  house,  and  the  house  had  seemed  almost  to  stifle 
him.  He  had  a  man's  feeling  of  uselessness  in  the  face  of 
a  sick-room;  he  could  do  nothing  to  help  Nellie  Fane  in 
her  struggle  jior  life;  he  only  hindered  the  people  who 
could  do  something.  Nor  did  he  succeed  much  better  with 
those  whose  ailments  were  of  the  mind.  Arthur  Angell 
sat  in  one  room,  suspecting  now  that,  whether  Nellie  lived 
or  died,  his  dearest  hopes  were  dead.  Dale,  in  another 
room,  strode  unrestingly  to  and  fro,  waiting  for  Wilson  to 
come  back  from  the  messages  he  kept  sending  him  on, 
now  upstairs  to  Nellie's  door,  now  down  the  town  to  Ethel 
Roberts',  now,  and  most  often,  to  the  Grange;  and  always 
Wilson,  his  forehead  wet  and  his  legs  weary,  came  back 
and  said: 

"  Please,  sir,  there  is  no  change." 

Once  Nellie  had  been  conscious,  had  asked  "  Is  he  safe?" 
and,  receiving  her  answer,  had  closed  her  eyes  again. 
Ethel  Roberts  was  in  no  danger;  the  shock  would  pass. 
Of  Janet  there  came  no  news,  save  that  she  was  alone  with 
her  mother,  and  cried  to  be  alone  even  from  her  mother. 
James  Roberts,  in  his  frenzy,  had  indeed  wrought  havoc, 
and  Philip,  as  he  walked  and  smoked  vehemently  though 
silently,  cursed  the  ways  of  this  world. 

Presently  Mrs.  Hodge  came  out  in  her  bonnet. 

"  Nellie  is  well  looked  after,"  she  said.  "  I  am  going 
down  to  see  how  that  poor  little  Roberts  is." 

Philip  did  not  offer  to  go  with  the  good  woman.  He 
watched  her  heavy  figure  hastening  down  the  hill,  wonder- 
ing that  she  seemed  almost  happy  in  her  busy  services  of 
kindness.  He  could  do  nothing  but  fret,  and  smoke,  and 
try  to  keep  out  of  the  way. 

A  smart  brougham  drove  up.  It  stopped  by  him,  and 
Tora  Smith  jumped  out. 


120  A    CHANGE    OF    AIK. 

"  How  is  she?"  she  cried. 

"  Spink  thinks  she  will  pull  through/'  answered  Philip; 
"  but  of  course  she's  in  great  clanger  still." 

"  May  I  go  to  her?"  asked  Tora. 

"  She  sees  no  one/'  he  replied,  in  surprise. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  to  see  her.  I  mean  to  stay  and 
help — to  nurse  her,  you  know." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you:  she  has  her  mother  and  a 
nurse." 

"  Oh,  won't  you  let  me?" 

"  It  does  not  rest  with  me.     But  why  should  you?" 

"  I — I  once  thought  such  horrid  things  of  her.  And — 
wasn't  it  splendid?" 

Philip  looked  kindly  at  her. 

"  That  will  please  her/'  he  said,  "  and  her  friends." 

"  Mayn't  I  help?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  what:  poor  Mrs.  Roberts  has  no  one  but  a 
hired  nurse.  Mrs.  Hodge  has  run  down  for  a  minute,  but 
of  course  she  can't  leave  her  daughter  long." 

"  You  mean  I  ought  to  go  to  her?" 

"  One  can't  even  be  land  in  the  way  one  likes  best," 
said  Philip. 

"  Well,  I  will.  But  I  should  have  loved  to  be  with  Miss 
Fane.  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  feel  about  her.  I  think 
people  who  think  evil  things  of  other  people  ought  to  be 
beaten,  Mr.  Hume." 

"  Doubtless;  but  justice  flags.  You  can't  expect  me  to 
beat  you,  Miss  Smith." 

Tora  smiled  for  a  minute;  then  she  wiped  her  eyes 
again,  and  asked,  gravely: 

"  Are  you  never  serious?" 

"  Yes;  I  am  serious  now.  Go  to  that  poor  woman;  con- 
sider doing  that  in  the  light  of  a  beating." 

"  You'll  let  Miss  Pane  know  I— I—" 

"  Yes;  and  Dale.  What  a  terrible  facer  for  our  cele- 
brations, isn't  it?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  Harry  has  ridden  over  to  see  Lord  Crans- 
ford  about  it.  Mr.  Delane  wants  the  thing  put  off,  if 
possible." 

"  Can  you  put  off  a  prince?  But  I  suppose  he'll  be  only 
too  glad  not  to  be  bored  with  it." 

"  You  know  Janet  is  in  a  dreadful  state.  Poor  girl!  It 
must  have  been  awful  for  her.     The  man  had  hold  of  her! 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIK.  121 

Well,  I  shall  go.  Good-bye.  I  shall  run  up  here  again 
to-morrow." 

The  putting  off  of  the  prince,  in  spite  of  Philip's  doubt 
of  its  constitutional  possibility,  was  managed;  for  the  cer- 
emony could  hardly  take  place  without  Mr.  Delane' s  pres- 
ence, as  he  had  been  the  inspiring  force  of  the  whole  move- 
ment which  had  resulted  in  the  institute;  and  Mr.  Delane 
felt  it  utterly  out  of  the  question  for  him  to  take  any  part 
in  such  festivities,  in  view  of  the  dreadful  occurrence  in 
his  grounds  and  of  his  daughter's  serious  condition.  The 
doctors,  indeed,  told  him  that  she  had  stood  the  shock  re- 
markably well;  they  would  not  have  been  surprised  to  find 
her  much. worse.  Her  reason  was  unshaken,  and,  after  the 
first  night  anyhow,  the  horror  of  the  madman's  grip  and 
voice  had  left  her.  She  did  not,  waking  or  sleeping,  for 
she  slept  sometimes,  dream  that  she  was  again  in  his  hands, 
face  to  face  with  death;  and  Dr.  Spink  congratulated  the 
squire  and  Mrs.  Delane  on  a  good  prospect  of  a  total  re- 
covery. Yet  Mrs.  Delane  and  the  squire  were  not  alto- 
gether comforted.  For  Janet  lay  from  morning  to  evening 
on  her  bed,  almost  motionless  and  very  quiet  whenever 
any  one  was  in  the  room.  She  asked  once  or  twice  after 
her  fellow-sufferers,  but,  except  for  that,  and  answering 
questions,  she  never  spoke  but  to  say: 

"  I  think  I  could  sleep  if  I  were  alone." 

Then  Mrs.  Delane  would  go  away,  trying  to  believe  the 
excuse. 

There  are  not  many  of  us  who  would  feel  warranted  in 
being  very  hard  on  a  man  who  had  failed  in  such  a  trial  as 
had  befallen  Janet  Delane;  in  a  woman,  failure  would 
seem  little  other  than  a  necessary  consequence  of  her  sex. 
Death,  sudden,  violent,  and  horrible,  searches  the  heart 
too  closely  for  any  one  to  feel  sure  that  his  would  be  found 
sound  to  the  core — not  risk  of  death,  for  that  most  men 
will,  on  good  cause,  and,  even  more  cheerfully,  in  good 
company,  meet  and  face.  It  is  certainty  that  appalls;  and 
it  had  been  certain  death  that  had  awaited  Janet's  first 
cry.  And  yet  she  would  not  be  comforted.  She  had 
stopped  to  think  how  certain  it  was;  then  she  failed.  The 
mistake  was  in  stopping  to  think  at  all.  The  other  girl — 
the  girl  he  did  not  love,  but  who,  surely,  loved  him  with 
a  love  that  was  love  indeed — had  not  stopped  to  think 
whether  the  bullet  could  or  might  or  must  hit  her.     She 


122  !         A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

had  not  cared  which;  it  had  been  enough  for  her  that  it 
might  hit  the  man  she  loved,  unless  she  stood  between  to 
stop  it,  and  she  had  stood  between.  How  could  Janet  ex- 
cuse her  cowardice  by  telling  herself  of  the  certainty  of 
death,  when,  had  she  not  been  a  coward,  she  would  never 
have  stayed  to  know  whether  death  were  certain  or  not? 
If  she  ever  could  have  deluded  herself  like  that,  what  the 
other  girl  did  made  it  impossible.  The  other  girl — so  she 
always  thought  of  Nellie — held  up  a  mirror  wherein  Janet 
saw  her  own  littleness.  And  yet  he  had  loved  her,  not  the 
other;  her  life  belonged  to  him,  the  other's  did  not;  she 
had  proclaimed  proudly,  but  an  instant  before,  that  she 
would  die  for  him,  and*  he  had  praised  her  for  saying  it. 
He  would  know  now  what  her  protestations  were  worth. 
He  would  be  amused  to  think  that  it  was  not  Janet  Delane 
—the  Janet  who  was  always  exhorting  him  to  noble 
thoughts — who  was  proud  in  the  pride  of  her  race — not 
she  who  had  dared  death  for  him;  but  that  other,  so  far 
beneath  her,  whom  she  had  not  deigned  to  think  a  rival. 
Ah,  but  why,  why  had  she  not  called?  Surely  God  would 
ha^e  given  her  one  moment  to  be  glad  in,  and  that  would 
have  been  enough. 

She  sat  up  in  bed,  the  coverings  falling  from  her,  and 
her  black  hair  streaming  over  her  white  night-dress. 
Clasping  her  hands  over  her  knees,  she  looked  before  her 
out  of  the  window.  She  could  see  the  tree  where  Dale  had 
stood  and  the  spot  where  she  had  fallen;  she  could  see  the 
fresh  red  gravel,  put  down  to  hide  the  stains,  and  the 
gardener's  rake,  flung  down  where  he  had  used  it.  He 
must  have  gone  to  tea — gone  to  talk  it  all  over  with  his 
wife  and  his  friends,  to  wonder  why  Miss  Janet  had  not 
called  out,  why  she  had  left  it  to  the  other  girl, 
why  she  had  fainted,  while  the  other  had  saved  him. 
They  would  talk  of  "  poor  Miss  Janet,"  and  call  the 
other  a  "rare  plucked  'un " — she  knew  their  way. 
Nobody  would  ever  call  her  that — not  her  father  again, 
who  used  to  boast  that  Janet,  like  all  his  house,  feared 
nothing  but  dishonor,  and.  would  make  as  good  a  soldier  as 
the  son  he  had  longed  for  in  vain.  Her  mother  had  come 
and  called  her  "  a  brave  girl."  Why  did  people  think 
there  was  any  good  in  lies?  She  meant  it  kindly,  but  it 
was  horrible  to  hear  it.  Lies  are  no  use.  Let  them  call 
her  a  coward,  if  they  wanted  to  speak  the  truth.     They 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  123 

all  thought  that.  Dale  thought  it— Dale,  who  must  be 
admiring  that  other  girl's  gallantry,  and  wondering  why  he 
had  not  loved  her,  instead  of  loving  a  girl  who  talked  big, 
and,  when  danger  came,  fainted— and  stood  by  to  see  him 
die. 

Of  course  he  could  not  go  on  loving  her  after  this.  He 
would  feel,  everybody  must  feel,  that  he  owed  his  life  to 
the  girl  who  had  saved  him,  and  must  give  it  to  her.  Very 
likely  he  would  come  and  pretend  to  want  her  still.  He 
would  think  it  right  to  do  that,  though  it  would  really  be 
kinder  just  to  let  her  drop.  She  would  understand.  No- 
body knew  he  had  spoken  to  her;  perhaps  nobody  need;  it 
would  not  seem  so  bad  to  people  who  did  not  know  she  had 
promised  to  be  his  wife.  Not  that  it  mattered  much  what 
people  thought.  She  knew  what  she  was,  and — she  must 
let  him  go,  she  must  let  him  go.  And  here,  for  the  first 
time,  she  buried  her  head  in  her  pillow  and  sobbed. 

Mrs.  Delane  came  in. 

"  Why,  Janet,  dearest,  you've  nothing  over  you!  You'll 
catch  cold.  What's  the  matter,  darling?  Are  you  fright- 
ened?" 

There  it  was!  Everybody  thought  she  was  frightened 
now. 

"  There  is  a  message  from  Mr.  Bannister,  darling.     He 
wants  so  much  to  see  you,  and  the  doctor  thinks  it  would 
do  you  no  harm.     Do  you  think  you  could  dress  and  see 
him?" 
'  "  He  wants  to  see  me?" 

"  Why,  yes,  dear.     Of  course,  Jan.    I  know,  my  dear." 

"  To  leave  her  and  come  and  see  me?" 

"  Miss  Fane?  Oh,  she's  going  on  very  well.  There's 
no  reason  he  shouldn't  come  over  here.  You  would  like 
to  see  him,  Jan?" 

"  Tell  him  to  go  away — tell  him  to  go  to  her — tell  him 
to  leave  me  alone." 

"  But,  Jan,  dearest — " 

"  Oh,  mamma,  mamma,  do  leave  me  alone!" 

Mrs.  Delane  went  and  told  the  messenger  that  Miss  De- 
lane  might  see  no  one  for  a  day  or  two;  she  was  still  too 
agitated.  Then  she  sought  her  husband  and  told  him  of 
their  daughter's  words. 

"  She  must  be  a  little  queer  still,"  said  the  squire,  with 


124  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

anxiety.     <(  Don't  be  worried,  Mary.     She's  a  strong  girl, 
and  she'll  soon  throw  it  off." 

But  she  could  not  throw  it  off — not  that  thought  which 
had  burned  into  her  breast;  and  all  night,  by  the  light  of 
the  moon,  she  sat  and  looked  at  the  tree,  and  the  fresh 
gravel,  the  spot  where  her  honor  and  her  love  had  called 
on  her,  and  called  in  vain. 


CHAPTEE  XXII. 

THE   FITNESS   OF  THINGS. 

If  anything  could  have  consoled  Market  Denborough  for 
the  certain  postponement  and  possible  loss  of  the  Duke  of 
Mercia's  visit,  it  would  have  been  the  cause  of  these  calam- 
ities. Its  citizens  were  not  more  hard-hearted  than  other 
people,  and  they  bestowed  much  sympathy  on  Nellie  Fane, 
who,  out  of  the  competitors,  was  easily  elected  the  heroine 
of  the  incident;  but  neither  were  they  more  impervious  to 
the  charms  of  excitement,  of  gossip,  and  of  notoriety.  The 
reporters  and  the  artists  who  had  been  told  off  to  describe 
and  depict  the  scene  of  the  royal  visit  did  not  abandon 
their  journey,  but  substituted  sketches  of  the  fatal  spot,  of 
the  Grange,  of  Littlehill,  and  of  the  actors  in  the  tragedy; 
while  interviews  with  the  mayor,  and  anybody  else  who 
knew,  or  knew  some  one  who  knew  about  the  circum- 
stances, or  professed  to  do  either,  amply  supplied  the  place 
which  the  pageant  and  the  speeches  had  been  destined  to 
fill.  And  if  the  occurrence  excited  such  interest  in  the' 
great  London  papers,  the  broad-sheets  and  columns  of  the 
local  journals  were  a  sight  to  behold.  The  circulation  of 
the  Standard  went  up  by  more  than  a  hundred;  while  the 
Chronicle  announced,  it  must  be  admitted  to  a  somewhat 
skeptical  world,  that  its  weekly  issue  had  exhausted  three 
editions,  and  could  no  longer  be  obtained  at  the  book- 
sellers' or  the  office.  The  assertion,  however,  being  un- 
tested, passed,  and  every  one  allowed  that  young  Mingley's 
detailed  account  of  poor  Roberts'  last  words  to  Dale  Ban- 
nister, before  he  fired,  were  perfect  in  veri-similitude, 
which,  under  the  regrettable  circumstance  of  Mingley's  ab- 
sence, and  of  no  such  words  having  been  uttered,  was  all 
that  could  be  expected.  Mingley  was  puffed  up,  demanded 
a  rise  of  salary,  got  it,  and  married  Polly  Shipwright,  the 
young  lady  at  the  Delane  Arms.     So  the  ill  wind  blew 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  125 

Mingley  good.  Yet  the  editor  of  the  Chronicle  was  not 
satisfied,  and  as  a  further  result  of  Mingley' s  activity,  he 
inserted  an  article  the  following  week,  in  which  he  referred, 
with  some  parade  of  mystery,  to  the  romantic  character  of 
the  affair.  It  was  not  only  in  fiction,  he  remarked,  that 
love  had  opportunities  for  displaying  itself  in  heroism,  nor, 
it  was  to  be  earnestly  hoped,  only  in  the  brains  of  imagi- 
native writers  that  affection  and  gratitude  found  them- 
selves working  together  toward  a  joyful  consummation. 
Denborough  knew  and  admired  its  gifted  fellow-townsman, 
and  Denborough  had  been  a  witness  of  the  grace  and 
charm  of  the  young  lady  who  had  shed  such  luster  on  her 
sex.  Accordingly,  Denborough  waited  the  result  with 
some  confidence.  Into  this  personal  side  of  the  matter  the 
Standard  did  not  try  to  follow  its  rival.  Mr.  Delane  con- 
trolled the  Standard,  and  he  forbid  any  such  attempt, 
on  grounds  of  careful  generality.  But  the  article  in  the 
Chronicle  was  quite  enough;  it  expressed  what  every  one 
had  been  thinking,  and  very  soon  the  whole  town  was  ex- 
pecting to  hear,  simultaneously,  that  Nellie  was  out  of 
danger,  and  that  she  had  given  her  hand  to  Dale  Bannis- 
ter. The  theory  was  so  strongly  and  unhesitatingly  ac- 
cepted that  the  two  or  three  who,  mainly  out  of  a  love  of 
paradox,  put  their  heads  on  one  side  and  asked  how  Miss 
Delane  came  to  be  out  in  the  garden  with  Dale  Bannister, 
were  pooh-poohed  and  told  that  they  merely  showed  their 
ignorance  of  the  usages  of  society;  whereupon  they  went 
home  and  grumbled  to  their  wives,  but  were  heard  no 
more  in  public  places. 

Dale  Bannister  flung  the  Chronicle  down  on  the  table 
with  a  muttered  oath,  asking  the  eternally-asked,  never- 
to-be-answered  question,  why  people  could  not  mind  their 
own  business — an  unjust  query  in  this  case,  for  it  is  a  re- 
porter's business  to  mind  other  people's  business.  He  had 
just  come  down  from  his  first  interview  with  Nellie.  She 
was  mending  rapidly,  and  was  now  conscious,  although  any 
reference  to  the  events  of  the  fatal  night  was  sternly  for- 
bidden ;  he  was  not  even  allowed  to  thank  the  friend  who, 
happily,  had  only  risked,  not  lost,  her  life  for  him.  He 
had  whispered  his  joy  at  finding  her  doing  well,  and  she 
had  pressed  his  hand  in  answer;  more  than  that  vigilant 
attendants  prevented.  Then  he  had  come  down-stairs, 
picked  up  the  Chronicle  in  the  hall,  read  the  article,  and 


126  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

gone  into  the  smoking-room,  where  he  had  found  Arthur 
Angell  sitting  by  the  fire,  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets  and 
his  shoulders  up  to  his  ears,  a  picture  of  woe. 

"  What  infernal  nonsense!"  said  Dale,  with  a  vexed 
laugh.  "  Do  you  see  how  this  fellow  disposes  of  us, 
Arthur?" 

"  Yes,  I  saw,"  said  Arthur,  gloomily. 

"  I  suppose  they're  bound  to  say  that.  The  public  loves 
romance." 

"  I  think  it's  very  natural  they  should  say  it.  Why  did 
she  follow  you?  Why  did  she  risk  her  life?  Why  did  she 
ask  after  you  the  first  moment  she  was  conscious?" 

"  No  one  but  me  was  being  murdered,"  suggested  Dale, 
with  a  rather  uneasy  smile. 

"  WTe  left  her  here.  Why  did  she  go  out  at  all?  But 
it's  too  plain.     I  saw  it  before  I  had  been  here  a  day. " 

"  Saw  what,  man?"  asked  Dale,  passing  by  Arthur's 
questionable  assertion. 

"  Why,  that  Nellie — you  know.  I  don't  know  what 
you  feel,  but  1  know  what  she  feels.  It's  rough  on  me 
having  me  down — " 

"  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing,"  said  Dale,  quickly. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  not;  though  how  you  didn't —  I  say, 
now,  before  you  came  to  Denborough,  didn't  you?" 

"  I — I  don't  think  so.     We  were  great  friends." 

Arthur  shook  his  head,  and  Dale  poked  the  little  bit  of 
fire  in  an  impatient  way. 

u  How  damned  crooked  things  go!"  he  said. 

Arthur  rose  and  said,  in  a  decided  tone : 

"  Well,  I'm  out  of  it.  She  saved  your  life,  and  she's  in 
love  with  you.  It  seems  to  me  your  duty's  pretty  plain. 
You  must  drop  your  other  fancy." 

"  My  other  fancy?"  exclaimed  Dale,  in  horror.  Lived 
there  a  man  who  could  call  his  love  for  Janet  a  "  fancy  "? 

"  You'd  break  her  heart,"  said  Arthur,  who  thought  of 
no  one  but  his  lady-love  in  his  unselfish  devotion. 

It  crossed  Dale's  mind  to  say  that  the  situation  seemed 
to  involve  the  breaking  of  one  heart  at  least,  if  Arthur 
were  right;  but  he  thought  he  had  no  right  to  speak  of 
Janet's  feelings,  well  as  he  knew  them.  He  threw  the 
poker  down  with  a  clang. 

"  Take  care — you'll  disturb  her." 

This  annoyed  Dale, 


A    CHAKGE    OF    AIR.  127 

"  My  good,  fellow/'  he  remarked,  "  we're  not  all,  ex- 
cept you,  entirely  indifferent  whether  she  lives  or  dies.  I 
might  throw  pokers  about  all  day — and  I  feel  inclined  to 
— without  her  hearing  me  in  the  blue  room." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  pardon,"  said  Arthur,  turning  to  the  win- 
dow and  looking  out. 

He  saw  a  stout  man  coming  up  the  hill.  It  was  the 
mayor  of  Denborough,  and  he  was  evidently  making  for 
Littlehill.  When  he  was  ushered  into  the  smoking-room, 
he  explained  that  he  had  come  to  ask  after  Miss  Fane's 
progress. 

"  The  town,  Mr.  Bannister,  sir,"  he  said,  "  is  takin'  a 
great  interest  in  the  young  lady." 

"I  am  glad  to  say  she  has,  we  think,  turned  the  cor- 
ner," said  Dale. 

"  That's  happy  news  for  all — and  you  first  of  all,  sir." 

The  mayor  might  merely  have  meant  that  Dale's  feel- 
ings would  be  most  acute,  as  Nellie  had  received  her  wound 
in  his  service;  but  there  was  a  disconcerting  twinkle  in  the 
mayor's  eye. 

"Mrs.  Roberts,"  the  mayor  continued,  "is  doin'  first 
rate.  After  all,  it's  a  riddance  for  her,  sir.  Have  you  any 
news  from  the  Grange?" 

"  I  hear  there  is  no  change  in  Miss  Delane.  She  still 
suffers  from  the  shock." 

"  Poor  young  lady!  I  hear  the  captain's  back  at  the 
Warren,  sir." 

"  What?" 

"  Captain  Ripley,  sir.     Back  at  home." 

"Oh!" 

The  mayor  was  bursting  with  suppressed  gossip  on  this 
point  also,  but  the  atmosphere  was  most  repressive.  He 
looked  round  in  despair  for  another  opening,  and  his  eyes 
fell  on  Arthur  Angell. 

"  Seen  the  Chronicle,  sir?"  he  asked.  "  That  Mingley's 
a  sharp  young  chap.  Still  I  don't  'old — hold  with  all  that 
talk  about  people.     Did  you  say  you'd  seen  it,  sir?" 

"  Yes,  I've  seen  it.     It's  mostly  lies." 

"  He!  he!"  chuckled  the  mayor.     "  You're  right,  sir." 

A  long  pause  ensued  before  the  mayor  very  reluctantly 
took  his  hat. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  see  Miss  Fane  about  soon,  sir?"  he 
said. 


128  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so.  1  think  so,  if  nothing  goes  wrong." 
"  She  must  be  proud  and  happy,  that  young  lady,  sir. 
As  I  said  to  my  daughters,  says  I:  '  Now,  girls,  which  of 
you  is  goin'  to  save  your  young  man's  life?'  And  my  wife, 
Mrs.  Hedger,  sir,  she  put  in:  '  None  of  you,  I'll  be  bound, 
if  you  dont — '  " 

The  anecdote  was  lost,  for  Dale  interrupted: 
"  Let  me  see  you  as  far  as  the  gate,"  and  pushed  the 
mayor's  walking-stick  into  his  hand. 

Having  got  rid  of  the  mayor,  Dale  did  not  hasten  to  re- 
turn to  Arthur  Angell.  At  this  moment,  exasperated  as 
he  was,  everything  about  his  friend  annoyed  him — his  de- 
votion, his  unselfishness,  his  readiness  to  accept  defeat 
himself,  his  indiscreet  zeal  on  behalf  of  his  mistress.  His 
despair  for  himself,  and  his  exhortation  to  Dale,  joined  in 
manifesting  that  he  neither  possessed  himself  nor  could 
understand  in  another  what  a  real  passion  was.  If  he  did 
or  could,  he  would  never  have  used  that  word  "fancy." 
How  could  people  speak  of  friendship  or  gratitude,  or  both 
together,  as  if  they  were,  or  were  in  themselves  likely  to 
lead  to,  love?  You  did  not  love  a  woman  because  you 
esteemed  her.  If  you  loved  her,  you  might  esteem  her — 
or  you  might  not;  anyhow,  you  worshiped  her.  Yet  these 
peddling  Denborough  folk  were  mapjomg  out  his  course  for 
him.     And  Arthur  Angell  croaked  about  broken  hearts. 

Suddenly  a  happy  thought  struck  him,  a  thought  which 
went  far  to  restore  his  equanimity.  These  people,  even 
that  excellent  Arthur,  spoke  in  ignorance.  At  the  most, 
they — those  who  knew  anything — supposed  that  he  had  a 
"  fancy  "  for  Janet.  They  had  no  idea  that  his  love  had 
been  offered  and  accepted,  that  he  was  plighted  to  her  by 
all  the  bonds  of  honor  and  fidelity.  This  exacting  grati- 
tude they  harped  upon  might  demand  a  change  of  nascent 
inclinations;  it  would  not  require,  nor  even  justify,  broken 
promises,  and  the  flinging  back  of  what  a  man  had  asked 
for  and  received.  Dale's  step  grew  more  elastic  and  his 
face  brighter  as  he  realized  that,  in  reality,  on  a  sane  view 
of  the  position,  duty  and  pleasure  went  hand  in  hand,  both 
pointing  to  the  desired  goal,  uniting  to  free  him  from  any 
such  self-sacrifice  as  Arthur  Angell  had  indicated.  If 
Arthur  were  right  about  Nellie's  feelings,  and  if  he  had 
been  a  free  man,  he  might  have  felt  some  obligation  on 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIK.  129 

him,  or  at  least  have  chosen,  to  make  the  child  happy,  but 
as  it  was — 

"  I  must  be  just  before  I'm  generous,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, and  added,  with  a  shamefaced  laugh,  "  and  I  happen 
to  like  justice  best." 

At  this  moment  a  servant  in  the  Grange  livery  rode  up, 
touching  his  hat,  and  handed  him  a  note.  It  was  from 
Janet,  though  her  writing  was  so  tremulous  as  to  be 
scarcely  recognizable.     He  tore  it  open  and  read: 

"  You  can  never  wish  to  see  me  again,  but  come  once 
more.     It  was  not  quite  as  bad  as  it  seemed.  J." 

In  bewilderment  he  turned  to  the  man. 

"  Miss  Delane  sent  this?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Say  I'll  come  over  to  the  Grange  to-morrow  morning." 

The  man  rode  off,  and  Dale  stood  fingering  and  staring 
at  his  note. 

"  What  does  the  dear  girl  mean?"  he  asked.  "  What 
wasn't  so  bad?  Why  don't  I  wish  to  see  her  again?  Has 
that  ruffian  driven  her  out  of  her  senses?" 

When  Dr.  Spink  came  that  evening,  Dale  seized  the 
opportunity  of  sounding  him.  The  doctor  laughed  at  the 
idea  of  any  serious  mental  derangement. 

"  Miss  Delane's  very  much  upset,  of  course,  very  much, 
but  her  mind  is  as  right  as  yours  or  mine." 

"  She's  got  no  delusions?" 

"  Oh,  dear,  no.  She's  nervous  and  overstrained,  that's 
all.     She'll  be  all  right  in  a  few  days." 

"  Then,"  said  Dale  to  himself,  as  the  doctor  bustled 
off,  "  all  I  can  say  is  that  I  don't  understand  women,," 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A      MOEBID      SCRUPLE. 

Mrs.  Delane  had  ceased  to  struggle  against  the  inevit- 
able, and  she  hailed  her  daughter's  desire  to  see  Dale  Ban- 
nister as  an  encouraging  sign  of  a  return  to  a  normal  state 
of  mind.  Strange  as  Janet's  demeanor  had  been  since  that 
fearful  evening,  there  could  not  be  anything  seriously 
wrong  with  her  when  her  wishes  and  impulses  ran  in  so 
natural  a  channel.  Mrs.  Delane  received  Dale  with  an 
approach  to  enthusiasm,  and  sent  him  up  to  the  little  bou- 

5 


130  A    CHANGE    OF    AIB. 

doir  where  Janet  was  with  an  affectionate  haste  which  in 
itself  almost  amounted  to  a  recognition  of  his  position. 

"  You  must  be  gentle  with  her,  please,  Mr.  Bannister," 
she  said.  "  She  wanted  so  much  to  see  for  herself  that 
you  were  really  alive  that  we  could  not  refuse  to  allow 
her,  but  the  doctor  is  most  strict  in  ordering  that  she 
should  not  be  excited. " 

Dale  promised  to  be  careful,  and  went  upstairs  without 
a  word  about  the  strange  note  he  had  received;  that  was  a 
matter  between  Janet  and  himself. 

Janet  was  sitting,  propped  up  with  cushions,  on  a  low 
chair,  and  she  waved  Dale  to  a  seat  near  her.  When,  be- 
fore sitting  down,  he  came  to  her  and  kissed  her,  she  did 
not  repel  his  caress,  but  received  it  silently,  again  motion- 
ing him  to  the  chair.  Dale  knelt  down  on  the  floor  beside 
her. 

"  How  pale  you  are,  poor  dear!"  he  said.  "  And  why 
do  you  write  me  such  dreadful  things?" 

"  I  wanted,"  she  began  in  a  low  voice,  "to  tell  you, 
Dale,  that  I  did  try,  that  I  really  did  try,  to  call  out.  I 
did  not  forsake  you  without  trying." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  darling?  How  have  you  forsaken 
me?" 

"  When  he  caught  hold  of  me,  there  was  plenty  of  time 
to  call  out.  I  might  have  warned  you — I  might  have 
warned  you.  I  might  have  done  what  she  did.  But  I 
couldn't.  I  tried,  but  I  couldn't.  I  was  afraid.  He  said 
he  would  blow  my  head  to  bits.  I  was  afraid,  and  I  left 
her  to  save  you." 

"My  dearest  girl!"  he  said,  taking  her  hand,  "you 
did  the  only  thing.  If  you  had  cried  out,  he  would  have 
murdered  you  first  and  me  afterward;  all  the  chambers  of 
the  revolver  were  loaded.  I  would  have  died  a  thousand 
times  sooner  than  have  one  of  your  dear  hairs  roughened; 
but,  as  it  was,  your  death  wouldn't  have  saved  me." 

She  had  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  as  if  with  sudden 
hope,  but,  as  he  finished,  she  shook  her  head  and  said: 

"  I  didn't  think  anything  about  that.  I  was  just 
afraid,  and  I  should  have  let  you  be  killed." 

"  My  sweet,  who  ever  expected  you  to  condemn  your- 
self to  certain  death  on  the  chance  of  saving  me?  It 
would  be  monstrous!" 

"  She  did  it,"  said  Janet  in  low  tones. 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIE.  131 

Dale  paused  for  a  minute. 

"  She  was  not  in  his  clutches,"  he  said.  "  He  might 
have  missed  her." 

"Ah,  no,  no!"  she  broke  out  suddenly.  "You  run 
down  what  she  did  to  spare  me!     That's  worst  of  all." 

"  Why,  Jan,  I  don't  say  a  word  against  her;  but  there 
was  a  difference." 

"  She  thought  of  no  difference.  She  only  thought  of 
you.     I  thought  of  my  own  life." 

"  Thank  God  if  you  did,  dearest!" 

"  I'm  glad  you  came.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  I  had  tried." 

"  I  need  nothing  to  make  me  love  you  more,  my  beauty 
and  delight,"  he  said,  pressing  her  to  him. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  sort  of  amazement,  making  a 
faint  effort  to  push  him  away. 

"  It  was  so  lucky,"  he  went  on,  "  that  I  didn't  see  you, 
or  I  should  have  rushed  at  him,  and  he  would  most  likely 
have  killed  you.  As  it  was — "  He  paused,  for  it  seemed 
impossible  to  speak  of  poor  Nellie's  hurt  as  a  happy  out- 
come. 

"  Come/*  he  resumed,  "  let's  think  no  more  about  it. 
The  wretched  man  is  dead,  and  Nellie  Fane  is  getting  bet- 
ter, and  we — why,  we,  Jan,  have  each  other." 

With  sudden  impatience  she  rose,  unlacing  his  arms 
from  about  her. 

"  Who  is  she?"  she  cried.  "  Who  is  she?  Why  should 
she  give  her  life  for  you  ?  I  loved  you,  and  I  was  afraid. 
She  wasn't  afraid." 

Dale  thought  that  he  began  to  understand  a  little  better. 
Jealousy  was  a  feeling  he  had  read  about,  and  seen,  and 
written  about.  If  Jan  were  jealous,  he  could  undertake 
to  reassure  her. 

"  She's  a  very  old  and  good  friend  of  mine,"  he  said, 
"  and  it  was  just  like  her  brave,  unselfish  way  to — " 

"  What  had  you  done  to  make  her  love  you  so?" 

"  My  sweetest  Jan,  surely  you  can't  think  I — " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no!  I  don't  mean  that.  I'm  not  so 
mean  as  that." 

Dale  wondered  whether  this  passionate  disclaimer  of 
jealousy  did  not  come  in  part  from  self-delusion,  though 
he  saw  that  Janet  made  it  in  all  genuineness. 

"  You  have  made  her  love  you — oh,  of  course  you  have! 
Why  did  she  follow  you?  why  did  she  come  between  you 


132  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

and  the  shot?  I  loved  you,  too,  Dale.  Ah!  how  I  loved 
— how  I  thought  I  loved  you!  But  her  love  was  greater 
than  mine." 

"  Come,  Jan,  come;  you  exaggerate.  You  must  be 
calm,  dearest.  Nellie  and  I  are  very  fond  of  each  other, 
but—" 

"  You  know  she  loves  you — you  know  she  loves  you  to 
death." 

"  My  darling,  I  don't  know  anything  of  the  sort.  But 
supposing  she  did — well,  I  am  very  sorry,  very  deeply 
grieved  if  she  is  unhappy;  but  I  don't  love  her — or  any 
other  woman  in  the  world  but  you,  Jan.  If  she  had  saved 
my  life  a  thousand  times,  it  would  make  no  difference. 
You,  Jan,  you  are  the  breath  of  my  life  and  the  pulse  of 
my  blood. ' ' 

He  spoke  with  passion,  for  he  was  roused  to  combat  this 
strange  idea  that  threatened  all  his  joy.  As  she  stood  be- 
fore him,  in  her  fairness  and  distress,  he  forgot  his  search- 
ings  of  heart,  his  tenderness  for  Nellie,  everything,  except 
that  she,  and  she  alone,  was  the  woman  to  be  his,  and 
neither  another  nor  she  herself  should  prevent  it. 

Looking  at  him,  she  read  this,  or  some  of  it,  in  his  eyes, 
for  she  shrunk  back  from  him,  and,  clasping  her  hands, 
moaned : 

"  Don't,  don't!  You  must  go  to  her — you  belong  to 
her.     She  saved  you,  not  I.     You  are  hers,  not  mine." 

"  Jan,  this  is  madness!  She  is  nothing  to  me;  you  are 
all  the  world." 

"  You  must  despise  me,"  she  said,  in  a  wondering  way, 
"  and  yet  you  say  that!" 

"If"  I  did  despise  you,  still  it  would  be  true.  But  I 
worship  you." 

"I  must  not!  I  must  not!  You  must  go  to  her.  She 
saved  you.  Leave  me,  Dale,  and  go  back.  You  must 
not  come  again." 

He  burst  out  in  wrath: 

"  Now,  by  God,  I  will  not  leave  3^011  or  let  you  go!  Mine 
you  are,  and  mine  you  shall  be!"  and  he  seized  her  by  the 
wrist.  She  gave  a  startled  cry  that  recalled  him  to  gentle- 
ness. 

"  Did  I  frighten  you,  my  beauty?  But  it  is  so,  and  it 
must  be.  It  is  sweet  of  you  to  offer — to  make  much  of 
what  she  did,  and  little  of  yourself.     1  love  you  more 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  133 

for  it.  But  we  have  done  with  that  .now.  Come  to  me, 
Jan." 

"  I  can't!  I  can't!  She  would  alvyays  be  between  us;  I 
should  always  see  her  between  us.  Oh,  Dale,  how  can  you 
leave  her?" 

"  I  have  never  loved  her.  I  have  never  promised  her," 
be  replied,  sternly.  "  It  is  all  a  mere  delusion.  A  man's 
love  is  not  to  be  turned  by  folly  like  this." 

She  answered  nothing,  and  sunk  back  in  her  chair  again. 

"If  it's  jealousy,"  he  went  on,  "  it  is  unworthy  of 
you,  and  an  insult  to  me.  And  if  it's  not  jealousy,  it's 
mere  madness." 

"  Can't  you  understand?"  she  murmured.  "  How  can 
I  take  what  is  hers?" 

"  1  can  take  what  is  mine,  and  I  will.  You  gave  your- 
self to  me,  and  I  will  not  let  you  go. " 

Still  she  said  nothing,  and  he  tried  gentleness  once 
more. 

"  Come,  Jan,  sweetest,  you  have  made  your  offering — 
your  sweet,  Quixotic  self-sacrifice — and  it  is  not  accepted! 
Say  that's  my  want  of  moral  altitude,  if  you  like.  So  be 
it.     I  won't  sacrifice  myself." 

"It's  for  her  to  take,  not  for  you.  I  offer  it  to  her,  not 
to  you." 

"  But  I  don't  offer  it  to  her.  Would  she  care  for  such 
an  offer?  She  may  love  me  or  not — I  don't  know;  but  if 
she  does,  she  will  not  take  my  hand  without  my  heart." 

"  You  must  love  her.  If  you  could  love  me,  how  much 
more  must  you  love  her?" 

"  You  are  mad!"  he  answered,  almost  roughly — "  mad 
to  say  such  a  thing!  I  know  you  love  me,  and  I  will  not 
listen  to  it.  Do  you  hear?  I  shall  come  back  and  see  you 
again,  and  I  will  not  listen  to  this." 

She  heard  his  imperious  words  with  no  sign  but  a  little 
shiver. 

"There,"  he  went  on,  "you  are  still  ill.  I'll  come 
back." 

"  No  use,"  she  murmured.     "  I  can't,  Dale." 

"  But  you  will,  and  you  shall!"  he  cried.  "  You  shall 
see — " 

The  door  opened,  and  the  nurse  came  in  to  forbid  his 
further  lingering.     With  a  distant  good-bye,  he  left  Janet 


134  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

motionless  and  pale,  and  hastening  down-stairs,  went  to 
the  squire's  room. 

"  I  have  come/'  he  said,  abruptly,  "  to  ask  your  sanc- 
tion to  my  engagement  with  your  daughter." 

The  squire  laid  down  his  book. 

"I'm  not  much  surprised,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  What 
does  Jan  say?" 

Dale  launched  out  into  a  history  of  the  sweet  things 
Janet  had  said,  and  of  the  strange,  wild  things  she  said 
now.    The  squire  heard  of  the  latter  with  raised  eyebrows. 

"  Very  odd,"  he  commented.  "  But  it  seems,  my  dear 
fellow,  that,  for  good  reasons  or  bad,  at  present  she  says 
No." 

"  She  said  Yes;  she  can't  say  No  now,"  declared  Dale. 
"  Do  you  consent,  Mr.  Delane?" 

"  If  she  does,  my  dear  fellow.  But  I  can't  help  you  in 
this  matter." 

"  I  want  no  help.  She  is  not  in  her  senses  now.  I 
shall  make  an  end  of  this  folly.     I  will  not  have  it." 

He  went  out  as  abruptly  as  he  had  rushed  in,  leaving 
the  squire  in  some  perplexity. 

"A  man  of  decision,"  he  commented;  "and,  alto- 
gether, a  couple  of  rather  volcanic  young  people.  They 
must  settle  it  between  themselves." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  HEROINE   OF  THE   INCIDENT. 

After  Dale's  visit  to  the  Grange  a  few  days  elapsed  in 
a  quiet  that  was  far  from  peaceful.  Dale  had  gone  to  the 
Grange  the  next  day,  and  the  day  after  that :  the  sight  of 
Janet  had  been  denied  to  him.  He  was  told  that  his  visit 
had  left  her  very  agitated  and  upset,  and  the  doctor  was 
peremptory  in  forbidding  any  repetition  of  it.  He  had 
sent  her  a  note,  and  she  had  returned  a  verbal  message 
by  her  mother  that  she  did  not  feel  equal  to  writing.  Was 
it  possible  that  she  meant  to  abide  by  her  insane  resolve 
to  break  off  their  engagement? 

At  Littlehill  things  were  hardly  more  happy.  Nellie  was 
recovering,  but  very  slowly,  and  she  also  remained  in- 
visible. Arthur  Angell  manifested  all  the  symptoms  of 
resentment  and  disappointed  love,  and  only  Philip  Hume's 
usual  placid  cheerfulness  redeemed  the  house  from  an  at- 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIK.  135 

mosphere  of  intolerable  depression.  Philip  had  discovered 
a  fund  of  amusement  in  the  study  of  Mrs.  Hodge.  As 
soon  as  that  good  lady's  first  apprehensions  were  soothed, 
she  was  seized  with  an  immense  and  exuberant  pride  in  her 
daughter,  which  found  expression  both  in  her  words  and 
her  bearing.  Though  ignorant  of  the  historical  precedent, 
she  assumed  the  demeanor  of  a  mother  of  the  Gracchi,  and 
pointed  out  to  all  who  would  listen  to  her — and  Philip 
never  thought  of  refusing  her  this  kindness — small  in- 
cidents and  traits  of  character  which  had  marked  out 
Nellie  from  her  very  cradle  as  one  of  heroic  mold  and 
dauntless  courage. 

"  I  should  be  astonished,  if  I  did  not  know  her 
mother,"  said  Philip,  politely. 

"  Ah,  you  must  be  chaffing,  of  course.  But  it's  not  me 
she  takes  it  from.     My  heart  goes  pit-a-pat  at  a  mouse. " 

"  Oh,  then  it's  Mr.  Hodge." 

"  You  couldn't,"  said  Mrs.  Hodge,  with  emphasis, 
"  catch  Hodge  at  a  loss.  He  was  ready  for  anything. 
He'd  have  been  proud  to  see  Nellie  to-day.  Look  what 
the  papers  are  saying  of  her!" 

"I'm  sure  she  deserves  it  all." 

"  Ay,  that  she  does;  she  deserves  all  Dale  Bannister  can 
do  for  her." 

Philip  scented  danger  in  this  topic,  and  changed  the 
subject. 

"  When  are  we  to  see  her?"  he  asked. 

"  In  a  day  or  two,  I  expect.  She's  much  better  this 
morning.  She's  asked  to  see  the  papers,  and  I'm  going 
to  take  her  the  Chronicle." 

"  How  delightful  to  read  of  one's  heroic  actions!  I  have 
never  enjoyed  the  sensation." 

"  Nor  ever  will,  young  man,  if  you  spend  all  your  time 
loafing,"  said  Mrs.  Hodge,  incisively. 

"  Well,  there  must  be  some  ordinary  people,"  protested 
Philip.  "  The  role  is  unappreciated,  so  it's  the  more  cred- 
itable in  me  to  stick  to  it." 

"  A  parcel  of  nonsense!    Where's  that  paper?" 

She  took  it,  went  upstairs,  and  gave  it  to  Nellie. 

"  There,  read  that.  See  what  they  say  about  you,  my 
dearie.  I'm  going  to  see  little  Roberts,  and  I  shall  be 
back  in  an  hour.  You've  got  the  bell  by  you,  and  the 
nurse'll  hear  you." 


136  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

Nellie,  left  alone,  began  to  read  the  Chronicle.  She 
read  the  whole  account  from  beginning  to  end,  the  article 
in  praise  of  her,  and,  in  the  later  edition,  the  editor's  ro- 
mantic forecast.  Then  she  put  the  paper  aside,  exclaim- 
ing: "  Oh,  if  it  could  be  true!"  and  lay  back  with  closed 
eyes. 

A  few  days  later  she  made  her  first  appearance  in  the 
drawing-room,  where  she  held  a  little  court.  Her  mother 
hung  over  all,  anticipating  far  more  wants  than  the  pa- 
tient was  likely  to  feel,  and  by  constant  anxious  questions 
almost  producing  the  fatigue  she  wished  to  guard  against. 
Tora  Smith  was  there,  in  a  state  of  gleeful  adoration;  and 
Arthur  Angell,  his  sorrows  temporarily  laid  aside,  ready 
with  a  mock  heroic  ode;  and  Philip  Hume,  new  come 
from  Mrs.  Roberts'  with  good  news  and  a  high  eulogy  on 
Dr.  Spink5 s  most  marked  and  assiduous  attention. 

"  I  really  believe,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh,  "  that  Mrs. 
Roberts  will  have  another  chance  of  being  a  Denborough 
doctor's  wife,  if  she  likes." 

66  That  would  be  an  ideal  ending,"  said  Tora. 

"  Therefore  it  will  not  happen,"  Arthur  remarked. 

"Poets  are  allowed  to  be  pessimistic,"  rejoined  Tora. 
"But  you're  wrong,  Mr.  Angell.  Ideal  things  do  hap- 
pen." 

"  To  Sir  Harry  Fulmer,  for  instance,"  put  in  Philip. 

"  Nonsense,  Mr.  Hume!  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that. 
Don't  you  agree  with  me,  Nellie?" 

"  Nellie  has  made  an  ideal  thing  happen,"  said  Philip, 
and  Nellie  blushed. 

"  Thanks,  Phil,"  said  Dale.  "It's  complimentary  to 
describe  the  prolongation  of  my  poor  existence  in  that 
way." 

"  The  deed  is  good,  however  unworthy  the  object, 
Dale." 

Dale  took  Nellie's  hand  and  patted  it  gently. 

"  Good  child,"  he  said,  and  Nellie  flushed  again  with  an 
almost  strange  intensity  of  embarrassment.  Tora  rose  ab- 
ruptly, and,  in  spite  of  opposition,  insisted  on  departure. 
Dale  escorted  her  to  her  carriage. 

"  I  have  asked  Nellie  to  come  and  stay  with  me,"  said 
she,  "  as  soon  as  she  is  well  enough  to  move." 

"  She  will  like  that.     I  hope  she  is  going?" 


A    OHAKGE    OF    AIR.  137 

"  She  said,"  Tora  went  on,  speaking  with  emphasis, 
"  that  she  would  ask  you." 

Dale  made  a  little  gesture  of  protest,  partly  against  Nel- 
lie's reported  sayiug,  more  against  the  reporter's  inquiring 
gaze.  He  began  to  be  astonished  at  the  interest  he  was  so 
unfortunate  as  to  inspire  in  his  affairs. 

"  I  shall  advise  her  to  go,"  he  said.  "  I  think  a  change 
will  be  good  for  her." 

"I  incline  to  think  so  too,"  said  Tora  with  sudden 
coldness;  "  but  I  thought  you  might  not  like  to  part  with 
her." 

"  Mount  Pleasant  is  not  inaccessible,"  responded  Dale, 
with  equal  coldness.  Eeturning  to  the  house,  he  found 
Nellie  gone,  the  company  dispersed,  and  Mrs.  Hodge  in 
his  smoking-room,  apparently  expecting  him. 

"  Well,  mother,"  he  said— he  had  used  to  call  her 
"  mother  "  when  he  was  always  running  in  and  out  of 
her  house  in  London—"  Nellie  looks  quite  blooming." 

"  She's  mending  nicely." 

"  I  hear  she's  to  go  to  the  Smiths'." 

"  Well,  I  thought  of  taking  her  to  Brighton." 

"  Oh,  it  will  be  more  amusing  at  the  Smiths';  unless,  of 
course,  she  needs  the  sea." 

"  She  thought,  or  I  thought,  rather,  that  you  might  like 
to  come  with  us  for  awhile?"  said  Mrs.  Hodge  in  a  tenta- 
tive tone. 

"  I  can't  get  away,"  answered  Dale,  decisively.  Noth- 
ing would  have  taken  him  away  from  the  Grange  gates. 

Mrs.  Hodge  took  her  courage  in  both  hands. 

"  Look  here,  Dale,"  she  said.  "  You  know  I'm  not 
one  of  those  women  that  lay  hold  of  a  man  if  he  as  much 
as  looks  at  a  girl,  and  asks  him  what  he  means  by  it. 
That's  not  my  way.  Hodge  used  tu  say  girls  could  take 
care  of  themselves  mostly— p'r'aps  he  wasn't  far  out.  But 
Nellie's  not  that  sort,  and  her  father's  gone,  good  man, 
ancl — »  and  the  excellent  lady  came  to  a  full  stop. 

Dale  loved  this  honest  old  woman  for  long  acquaint- 
ance' sake  and  much  kindness.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  and  said: 

"  It's  a  sad  world,  mother." 

"  The  child's  fond  of  you,  Dale.     She's  shown  that." 

"I'm  a  crossed  lover  too,  mother.  We  can  only  weep 
together." 


138  A    CHAtfGE    OF    AIB. 

"  What,  you  mean  that  Grange  girl?"  asked  Mrs. 
Hodge,  her  love  for  her  own  making  her  tone  tart. 

"  Yes,  that  Grange  girl,"  answered  Dale,  with  a  rueful 
smile.  "  And  just  at  present  that  Grange  girl  won't  have 
anything  to  say  to  me." 

Mrs.  Hodge  pressed  his  hand,  and  whispered: 

"  Don't  you  tell  Nellie  what  ■  I  say,  but  let  her  go, 
dearie,  and  take  my  girl.  She's  sick  for  you,  Dale, 
though  she'd  kill  me  if  she  heard  me  say  it." 

"  Ay,  but  I'm  sick  for  the  Grange  girl,  mother." 

"  You  don't  take  it  ill  of  me,  Dale?  But  there!  a  kind 
word  from  you  is  more  than  the  doctors  to  her.  She'd 
say  nothing  of  what  she's  done,  and  I  say  nothing,  but 
she's  a  good  girl,  and  a  pretty  girl." 

"  That  she  is,  and  she  deserves  a  better  man  than  I 
am." 

"  Well,  there  it  is!  Talking  mends  no  holes,"  said  Mrs. 
Hodge,  with  a  heavy  sigh.  Then  she  added,  in  an  out- 
burst of  impatience:  "  Why  did  you  ever  come  to  this  mis- 
erable little  place?" 

•Dale  raised  inquiring  hands  to  heaven  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  What  they  call  fate,  mother,"  said  he.  "  Come, 
cheer  up.  She'll  get  over  this  little  idea.  She'll  be  all 
right." 

"  Please  God,"  said  Mrs.  Hodge.  "  It's  time  for  her 
beef -tea." 

The  phrase  "  Please  God  "  is,  as  a  rule,  expressive  of  the 
speaker's  desire,  but  not  of  his  expectation.  So  it  was 
with  Mrs.  Hodge;  but  Dale  could  not  bring  himself  to  take 
so  gloomy  a  view.  A  man's  own  passion  assumes  a  most 
imposing  appearance  of  permanence,  but  he  finds  it  easy  to 
look  with  incredulity  on  a  like  assumption  in  the  feelings 
of  others.  He  had  keen  sympathy  for  Nellie  in  the  mo- 
ment or  the  period  of  pain  which  seemed  to  lie  before  her, 
but  experience  told  him  that  all  probabilities  were  in  favor 
of  her  escaping  from  it  at  no  distant  time.  Love  like  his 
for  Janet — and,  till  this  unhappy  day,  he  would  have 
added,  Janet's  for  him — was  exceptional;  change,  recov- 
ery, oblivion — these  were  the  rule,  the  happy  rule  whose 
operation  smoothed  love's  rough  ways. 

Nevertheless,  be  this  wide  philosophical  view  as  just  as  it 
might,  the  present  position  came  nigh  to  being  intolerable, 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  139 

and  it  was  hard  to  blame  him  if  he  looked  forward  to  Nel- 
lie's departure  with  relief.  Her  presence  accused  him  of 
cruelty,  for  it  seems  cruel  to  refuse  what  would  give  hap- 
piness, and  it  increased  every  day;  it  continued  the  mis- 
understanding which  already  existed  as  to  their  future  rela- 
tions. Even  now,  in  spite  of  Janet's  protest,  Dale  was 
convinced  he  had  detected  an  undercurrent  of  jealousy, 
flowing  in  to  re-enforce  the  stream  of  that  higher,  but 
stranger  and  wilder,  feeling  which  had  made  her  drive 
him  away.  If  she  heard  that  Nellie  remained  at  his  house, 
and  what  conclusion  was  universally  drawn  from  the  fact, 
he  was  afraid  that,  when  restored  health  carried  away  the 
morbid  idea  which  was  now  most  prominent,  the  jealousy 
might  remain,  and,  if  it  did,  Janet's  proud  nature  was 
ground  on  which  it  would  bear  fruit  bitter  for  him  to  taste. 
He  could  not  and  did  not  for  a  moment  blame  Mrs. 
Hodge  for  her  action.  It  was  the  natural  outcome  of  her 
love,  and  she  had  performed  her  difficult  task,  as  it  seemed 
to  him,  with  a  perfect  observance  of  all  the  essential  marks 
of  good  breeding,  however  homely  her  method  had  been. 
But  she  could  not  understand  even  his  love  for  Janet, 
much  less  another  feeling  in  him,  which  aided  to  make  her 
intercession  vain.  For  he  did  not  deny  now  that,  besides 
the  joy  he  had  in  Janet  as  a  woman  merely,  there  was 
also  the  satisfaction  he  derived  from  the  fact  that  she  was 
Miss  Delane,  of  Dirkham  Grange.  Fools  and  would-be 
cynics  might  dismiss  this  as  snobbery;  but  Dale  told  him- 
self that  he  was  right  and  wise  in  clinging  to  the  place  in 
this  new  world  which  his  sojourn  at  Denborough  had 
opened  to  him,  and  which  a  marriage  with  Janet  would 
secure  for  him  in  perpetuity.  Setting  aside  altogether 
questions  of  sentiment,  he  felt  it  useless  not  to  recognize 
that,  if  he  married  Nellie  Fane,  he  would  drift  back  into 
his  old  world,  the  gates  would  close  again,  and  the  fresh 
realms  of  life  and  experience,  which  had  delighted  his  taste 
and  stimulated  his  genius,  would  be  his  to  wander  in  no 
more.  He  had  grown  to  love  this  world,  this  old  world  so 
new  to  him;  and  he  Joved  Janet  not  least  because  all  about 
her — her  face,  her  speech,  her  motions,  her  every  air,  were 
redolent  to  him  of  its  assured  distinction  and  unboastful 
pride.  Nay,  even  these  fantastic  scruples  of  hers  were 
but  a  distortion  of  a  noble  instinct  born  in  her  blood,  and 
witnessed  to  a  nature  and  qualities  that  he  could  look  for 


140  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

only  in  the  shade  of  some  such  place  as  Dirkham  Grange. 
lie  felt  as  if  he  too  belonged  to  her  race,  and  had  been  all 
his  life  an  exile  from  his  native  land,  whither  at  last  a 
happy  chance  had  led  back  his  wandering  feet.  What 
would  dear  old  Mother  Hodge  understand  of  all  that? 
What  even  would  Nellie  herself,  for  all  her  ready  syrnj^a- 
thies?  It  was  a  feeling  that,  not  vulgar  in  itself,  seemed 
to  become  vulgar  in  the  telling;  and,  after  all,  he  had  no 
need  of  other  justification  than  his  love  and  his  pledged 
word. 

He  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  Arthur  Angell 
walking  moodily  up  and  down.  Putting  on  his  hat,  he 
joined  him,  passing  his  arm  through  his.  Arthur  turned 
to  him  with  a  petulant  look. 

"  A  lot  of  miserables  we  are,  old  boy/'  said  Dale,  press- 
ing the  arm  he  held.  "I  am  often  tempted  to  regret, 
Arthur,  that  the  state  has  not  charged  itself  with  the  con- 
trol of  marriages.  It  would  relieve  us  all  of  a  large 
amount  of  trouble,  and  I  really  don't  see  that  it  would 
hurt  any  one  except  novelists.  I  am  feeling  badly  in  need 
of  a  benevolent  despotism. " 

"  I'm  going  back  to  town,"  Arthur  announced,  ab- 
ruptly. 

"  I'm  very  sorry.  But  I  don't  know  that  it's  any  use 
asking  you  to  stay.  Nellie  goes  to  the  Smiths'  in  a  day 
or  two — " 

"  It  makes  no  difference  to  me  where  she  goes,"  inter- 
rupted the  unhappy  young  man.     "  I — I  mean — " 

"  I  know  what  you  mean." 

Philip  came  up,  and  glanced  keenly  at  Arthur.  Then 
he  smiled  good-huruoredly,  and  said: 

"  Shall  I  prophesy  unto  you?" 

"  No,"  said  Arthur.  "  I  know  you're  going  to  say  it'll 
be  all  the  same  six  months  hence." 

"  I  was.  I  can't  deny  it,  Arthur.  You  forget  that  I 
have  seen  you  like  this  many  times  before.  We  may  have 
a  tragedy  or  we  may  not,  Arthur,  but  I  shall  take  leave  to 
eliminate  you  from  the  cast." 

"I'm  going  to  pack,"  said  Arthur,  angrily,  and  he 
went  into  the  house. 

"  When  there  are  real  troubles  about,"  said  Philip,  "  it 
is  well  to  clear  the  ground.  There's  not  much  the  matter 
with  him." 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  141 

"  I  think  he  feels  it  rather,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  yes;  it's  worth  a  set  of  verses." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it's  no  worse;  for,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  Phil,  there's  enough  to  worry  about  without  Arthur. 
I'm  glad  our  party  is  breaking  up." 

«  Why?" 

"  We  know  too  much  about  each  other  to  live  together 
comfortably." 

"  True.     Shall  I  go?" 

"  No,"  said  Dale,  with  a  smile;  "  you  may  stay  and 
keep  watch  over  the  razors." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  SCENE   OF  THE   OUTRAGE. 

The  excitement  and  bustle  which  attended  and  followed 
on  the  attempted  murder,  the  suicide,  the  inquest,  the  ill- 
nesses, and  the  true  and  false  reports  concerning  each  and 
all  of  these  incidents,  had  hardly  subsided  before  the  mayor 
of  Market  Denborough,  with  the  perseverance  that  distin- 
guished him,  began  once  more  to  give  his  attention  to  the 
royal  visit.  For  reasons  which  will  be  apparent  to  all  who 
study  the  manner  in  which  one  man  becomes  a  knight 
while  another  remains  unhonored,  the  mayor  was  particu- 
larly anxious  that  the  institute  should  not  lose  the  eclat 
which  the  Duke  of  Mercia  had  promised  to  bestow  on  its 
opening,  and  that  its  opening  should  take  place  during  his 
mayoralty. 

The  finger  of  fame  pointed  at  Mr.  Maggs  the  horse- 
dealer  as  Mr.  Hedger's  successor,  and  the  idea  of  the 
waters  of  the  fountain  of  honor  flowing  on  to  the  head  of 
Maggs,  instead  of  on  to  his  own,  spurred  the  mayor  to 
keen  exertion.  He  had  interviews  with  the  squire,  he 
wrote  to  the  lord  lieutenant,  he  promoted  a  petition  from 
the  burgesses,  and  he  carried  a  resolution  in  the  town 
council.  Mr.  Delane  was  prevailed  upon  to  use  his  influ- 
ence with  the  lord  lieutenant;  the  lord  lieutenant  could 
not,  in  view  of  Mr.  Delane' s  urgent  appeal,  refuse  to  lay 
the  question  before  his  royal  highness;  and  his  royal  high- 
ness was  graciously  pleased  to  say  that  he  could  not  deny 
himself  the  pleasure  of  obliging  Lord  Cransford,  knowing 
not  that  he  was  in  fact  and  in  truth,  if  it  may  be  spoken 


142  A    CHANGE    OF    AIK. 

without  Use-majeste,  merely  an  instrument  in  the  clever 
fingers  of  a  gentleman  who,  when  the  prince  was  writing 
his  reply,  was  rolling  pills  in  the  parlor  behind  his  shop  in 
the  town  of  Market  Denborough. 

Now,  Colonel  Smith  had  never  concealed  his  opinion 
that,  however  much  evil  that  unhappy  man,  James  Rob- 
erts, had  to  answer  for,  yet  he  deserved  a  scrap  of  grate- 
ful memory,  inasmuch  as  he  had  by  his  action  averted  the 
calamity  that  was  threatening  the  town,  and,  furthermore, 
robbed  Dale  Bannister  of  the  chance  of  prostituting  his 
genius.  Accordingly,  when  it  was  announced  in  the 
Standard,  three  or  four  weeks  after  James  Roberts  had 
shot  at  Dale  Bannister  and  wounded  Nellie  Fane,  that  the 
duke  had  given  a  conditional  promise  to  pay  his  deferred 
visit  in  June,  the  colonel  laid  down  the  paper  and  said  to 
the  rest  of  the  breakfast  party  at  Mount  Pleasant — and  the 
colonel  must  bear  the  responsibility  for  the  terms  he 
thought  proper  to  employ: 

"  That  old  fool  Cransford  has  nobbled  the  whipper- 
snapper  again!  We're  to  have  him  after  all!    Good  Lord!" 

Tora  at  once  appreciated  his  meaning. 

"  Papa  means  the  prince  is  coming,  Nellie!"  she  cried. 
"  How  splendid!" 

"  Bannister  will  have  a  chance  of  blacking  his  boots 
now,"  pursued  the  colonel,  trying  to  impose  a  malignant 
sneer  on  his  obstinately  kindly  countenance. 

"  You  are  not  to  say  such  things,"  said  Nellie,  emphat- 
ically.    "  You  know  you  don't  mean  tnem." 

"  Not  mean  them?"  exclaimed  the  colonel. 

"  No.  You're  not  horrid,  and  it's  no  use  trying  to 
make  yourself  horrid.     Is  it,  Tora?" 

Tora's  thoughts  were  far  away. 

"  In  June,"  she  said,  meditatively.  "  I  hope  it  won't 
be  the  first  week,  or  we  shall  have  to  come  back  early." 

The  colonel's  face  expressed  concentrated  scorn. 

"  You  would  cut  short  your  honey-moon  in  order  to 
come  back?" 

"  Of  course,  dear.  I  wouldn't  miss  it.  Oh,  and,  Nel- 
lie, I  shall  go  in  next  after  Lady  Cransford!" 

This  was  too  much  for  the  colonel;  he  said  nothing  him- 
self, but  his  joy  was  great  when  Sir  Harry  pointed  out 
that  Mrs.  Hedger  would  have  official  precedence  over  the 
new  Lady  Fulmer.     The  colonel  chuckled,  and  Tora  pre- 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIK.  143 

tended  that  she  had  remembered  about  Mrs.  Hedger  all  the 
time. 

"  Johnstone  will  probably  take  you  in,  Tora,"  said  Sir 
Harry,  who  had  lately  found  himself  able  to  treat  Tora 
with  less  fearful  respect. 

"  I  don't  care.  I  shall  talk  to  the  prince.  Now,  Nel- 
lie, you  must  come  down  for  it." 

Nellie  would  not  give  any  promise,  and  Tora  forbore  to 
press  her,  for  she  confessed  to  herself  and  to  Sir  Harry 
that  she  did  not  quite  understand  the  position  of  affairs. 
Janet  Delane  remained  in  strict  seclusiou ;  doctor's  orders 
were  alleged,  but  Tora  was  inclined  to  be  skeptical,  for 
she  had  seen  Janet  out  driving,  and  reported  that  she 
looked  strong  and  well.  Dale  was  at  'Littlehill,  and  he 
was  there  alone,  Philip  having  gone  back  to  London  with 
Arthur  Angell.  He  often  came  over  to  Mount  Pleasant, 
to  see  Nellie,  no  doubt;  and  when  he  came,  he  was  most 
attentive  and  kind  to  her.  Yet  he  resolutely  refused  to 
stay  in  the  house,  always  returning  in  an  hour  or  two  to 
his  solitary  life  at  Littlehill.  He  seemed  never  to  see 
Janet,  and  to  know  not  much  more  about  her  than  the  rest 
of  the  world  did.  He  never  referred  to  her  unquestioned, 
and  when  he  spoke  of  Nellie's  share  in  the  scene  in  the 
garden,  he  appeared  pointedly  to  avoid  discussing  Janet's. 
Tora  concluded  that  there  was  some  break  in  his  relations 
with  Janet,  and,  led  on  by  her  sympathies,  had  small  diffi- 
culty in  persuading  herself  that  he  was  by  degrees  being 
induced  by  affection  and  gratitude  to  feel  toward  Nellie  as 
everybody  expected  and  wished  him  to  feel.  Only,  if  so, 
it  was  hard  to  see  why  Nellie's  pleasure  in  his  visits  seemed 
mingled  with  a  nervousness  which  the  increased  brightness 
of  her  prospects  did  not  allay.  Evidently  she  also  was 
puzzled  by  Janet's  conduct;  and  it  was  equally  clear  that 
she  did  not  yet  feel  confident  that  Dale  had  renounced  his 
fancy  for  Janet  and  given  his  heart  to  her. 

In  after-clays  Dale  was  wont  to  declare  that  the  fortnight 
he  passed  alone  at  Littlehill  was  the  most  miserable  in  his 
life,  and  people  given  to  improving  the  occasion  would  then 
tell  him  that  he  had  no  experience  of  what  real  misery 
was.  Yet  he  was  very  miserable.  He  was  sore  to  the 
heart  at  Janet's  treatment  of  him;  she  would  neither  see 
him,  nor,  till  he  absolutely  insisted,  write  to  him,  and 
then  she  sent  three  words:  "It's  no  use."     In  face  of  this 


144  A    CHANGE    OP    AIR. 

incredible  delusion  of  hers  lie  felt  himself  helpless;  and 
the  squire,  with  all  the  good  will  in  the  world  to  him, 
could  only  shrug  his  shoulders  and  say  that  Jan  was  a 
strange  girl;  while  Mrs.  Delane,  knowing  nothing  of  the 
cause  of  her  daughter's  refusal  to  see  Dale,  had  once  again 
begun  to  revive  her  old  hopes,  and  allowed  herself  to  hint 
at  them  to  her  favorite  Gerard  Ripley.  Of  course  this  lat- 
ter fact  was  not  known  to  Dale,  but  he  was  aware  that 
Captain  Ripley  had  called  two  or  three  times  at  the  Grange, 
and  had  seen  Janet  once.  The  "  doctor's  orders  "  ap- 
plied, it  seemed,  to  him  alone;  and  his  bitterness  of  heart 
increased,  mingling  with  growing  impatience  and  resent- 
ment. Nellie  could  never  have  acted  like  this;  she  was 
too  kind  and  gentle;  love  was  real  in  her,  a  mastering 
power,  and  not  itself  the  jriaything  of  fantastic  scruples — 
unless  a  worse  thing  were  true,  unless  the  scruples  them- 
selves were  the  screen  of  some  unlooked-for  and  sudden 
infidelity  of  heart.  The  thought  was  treason,  but  he  could 
not  stifle  it.  Yet,  even  while  it  possessed  him,  while  he 
told  himself  that  he  had  now  full  right  to  transfer  his  al- 
legiance, that  no  one  could  blame  him,  that  every  motive 
urged  him,  all  the  while  in  his  inmost  mind  he  never  lost 
the  knowledge  that  it  was  Janet  he  wanted;  and  when  he 
came  to  see  Nellie,  he  was  unable,  even  if  he  had  been 
willing — and  he  told  himself  he  was — to  say  anything  but 
words  of  friendship  and  thanks,  unable  to  frame  a  sentence 
distantly  approaching  the  phrases  of  love  he  knew  she 
longed  to  hear. 

Matters  were  in  this  very  unsatisfactory  condition  when 
Philip  Hume  returned  to  Littlehill,  and  straightway  be- 
came the  unwilling  recipient  of  Dale's  troubled  confi- 
dences. A  fortnight's  solitude  had  been  too  much  for 
Dale,  and  he  poured  out  his  perplexities,  saying,  with  an 
apologetic  laugh: 

"I'm  bound  to  tell  some  one.  I  believe,  if  you  hadn't 
come,  I  should  have  made  a  clean  breast  of  it  to  the 
mayor." 

"  You  might  do  worse.  The  mayor  is  a  man  of  sagac- 
ity.    This  young  woman  seems  very  unreasonable." 

"  What  voung  woman?" 

"Why,  Miss  Delane." 

"  ^ell,  Phil,  you  must  allow  for  the  delicacy  of  her — " 

*  Sou  called  it  infernal  nonsense  yourself  just  now." 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  145 

"  I  wish,  Pb  il,  you'd  call  at  the  Grange  and  see  her,  and 
tell  me  what  you  think  about  her." 

"  I  can't  do  any  good,  but  I'll  go,  if  you  like.5' 

Accordingly  he  went,  and  did,  as  he  expected,  no  good 
at  all.  Janet  had  resumed  her  ordinary  manner,  with  an 
additional  touch  or  two  of  vivacity  and  loquaciousness, 
which  betrayed  the  uneasiness  they  were  meant  to  hide. 
The  only  subjects  she  discussed  were  the  last  new  novel 
and  Tora  Smith's  wedding,  and  Philip  took  his  leave,  en- 
tirely unenlightened.  The  squire  offered  to  walk  part  of 
the  way  with  him,  and  they  set  out  together. 

The  squire  stopped  at  the  scene  of  the  disaster.  Pointing 
with  his  toe  to  a  spot  by  the  side  of  the  drive: 

"  That's  where  that  mad  wretch  stood,  holding  my  poor 
girl,"  he  said. 

Philip  nodded. 

"  And  where  was  Dale?"  he  asked,  for  it  was  his  first 
visit  to  the  spot. 

The  squire  was  delighted  to  be  cicerone. 

"  He  was  standing  with  his  back  to  that  tree  yonder, 
about  fifteen  yards  off,  looking  due  north,  toward  the 
house,  thinking  of  a  poem  or  some  nonsense,  I  suppose." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"  Well,  then,"  pursued  the  squire,  ee  you  see  he  was  al- 
most in  a  straight  line  with  Roberts — Roberts'  barrel  must 
have  pointed  straight  toward  Denborough  church  spire. 
After  the  first  shot  Bannister  sprung  forward — the  gravel 
was  soft,  and  we  saw  every  footprint — to  where  Miss  Fane 
fell   and " 

"  Where  did  she  fall?" 

The  squire's  toe  indicated  a  spot  about  three  yards  from 
the  tree. 

"  She  was  running  up  from  behind  Bannister,  you  know, 
and  had  just  got  across  the  line  of  fire  when  the  bullet 
caught  her.  She  fell  forward  on  her  face — she  was  bound 
to,  Spink  said,  from  the  way  she  was  hit — and  •  Bannister 
just  got  his  arm  under  her,  to  break  her  fall." 

"  She  was  running  toward  him,  I  suppose,  to  warn 
him?" 

"  To  get  between  him  and  Roberts,  like  the  noble  girl 
she  is,  no  doubt;  but  she  seemed  to  have  turned  round  on 
hearing  the  shot,  because,  to  judge  from  the  way  she  was 


146  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

lying,  she  was,  at  the  moment  she  fell,  heading  almost 
south. " 

"  What,  toward  the  house?" 

"  Yes,  in  a  slanting  line,  from  the  tree  toward  the 
house." 

"  That's  away  from  Bannister?" 

"  Yes,  and  from  Roberts  too.  You  see,  she  must  have 
turned.  It  was  a  fine  thing.  Well,  I  must  get  back;  I'm 
busy  with  all  the  preparations  for  this  affair.  Good-day, 
Mr.  Hume.     Very  kind  of  you  to  come  and  see  us." 

"  I'm  so  glad  to  find  Miss  Delane  better." 

"  Yes,  she's  better,  thanks,  but  not  herself  yet,  by  any 
means.     Good-d  ay. ' ' 

Philip  went  home,  lighted  a  pipe,  and  drew  a  neat  little 
plan  of  the  scene  which  had  just  been  so  carefully  de- 
scribed to  him.  By  the  time  the  drawing  was  made  the 
pipe  was  finished,  and  he  was  obliged  to  light  another, 
which  he  consumed  while  he  sat  gazing  at  his  handiwork. 
He  was  still  pondering  over  it  when  Dale  came  in,  and 
flung  himself  into  an  arm-chair  with  a  restless  sigh. 

"  What's  up  now?"  asked  Philip. 

"  Only  that  I'm  the  most  miserable  dog  alive.  I  tell 
you  what,  Phil,  I'm  going  to  settle  this  affair  one  way  or 
the  other.  I  won't  be  played  with  any  more.  I  shall  go 
up  to  the  Grange  to-morrow. ' ' 

"  You  can't — it's  Fulmer's  wedding." 

"  Hang  his  wedding!  W^ell,  then,  next  day — and  get  a 
definite  answer  from  Janet.  It's  too  bad  of  her.  Did 
you  have  any  talk  with  her  to-day?" 

"  Only  general  conversation.     She  gave  me  no  chance." 

"  I  don't  understand  her,  but  I'll  have  it  settled.  I've 
been  at  Mount  Pleasant,  and — by  God !  Phil,  I  can't  stand 
the  sort  of  anxious,  beseeching  way  Nellie  looks.  I  know 
it  sounds  absurd  to  hear  a  man  talk  like  that,  but  it's  a 
fact." 

"  Then  why  do  you  go?" 

"  WTell,  considering  what  she's  done,  I  don't  see  how  I 
can  very  well  stay  away." 

"Oh!  No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Philip,  touching  up 
his  plan;  "  but  if  I  were  you,  Dale,  I  should  wait  a  bit  be- 
fore I  bothered  Miss  Delane  again.     Give  her  time,  man." 

"  No,  I  won't.     She's  not  treating  me  fairly." 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  147 

"  What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?  You  want  to  marry 
her,  don't  you?" 

"Of  course  Ida" 

"  Then  give  her  time.  Give  her  a  week  at  all  events. 
You  can  sound  her  at  the  wedding  to-morrow,  but  don't 
present  your  ultimatum." 

And  Dale  agreed,  on  much  persuasion,  to  give  her  a 
week. 

"  That's  more  sensible.  And,  Dale,  may  I  ask  Arthur 
Angell  down  for  a  day  of  two?" 

'  Of  course;  but  I  don't  know  whether  he'll  come." 

"  Oh,  he'll  come,  fast  enough." 

"  What  do  you  want  him  for?" 

"  To  consult  him  about  a  little  work  of  mine,"  an- 
swered Philip,  regarding  his  sketch  critically. 

"  Going  to  publish  something?" 

"  I  don't  know.     That  depends." 

"  On  the  publishers?  Ca  va  sans  dire.  But  how  can 
Arthur  help  you?" 

"  He  was  there." 

"  Where?" 

"  Now,  Dale,  I  can  understand  your  impatience — but 
you  must  wait.    If  I  publish  it,  you  shall  see  it." 

"  Is  it  my  sort?     Shall  I  like  it?" 

*'  I  think  your  feelings  would  be  mixed,"  said  Philip, 
delicately  filling  in  Nellie  Fane's  figure  on  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

AGAINST  HER  BETTER   JUDGMENT. 

It  is  never  well  to  vie  with  experts  in  their  own  sub- 
jects; humiliation  surely  attends  the  audacious  attempt, 
and  a  humiliation  which  receives  and  deserves  no  softening 
sympathy.  Moreover,  even  if  the  technical  difficulties 
could  be  overcome,  the  description  of  a  wedding  must  be 
either  florid  or  cynical,  assuming  impossible  happiness,  or 
insinuating  improbable  catastrophe.  Wherefore  this  nar- 
rative, which  abhors  either  of  these  extremes,  takes  leave 
to  resume  its  course  at  the  moment  when  Sir  Harry  and 
Lady  Fulmer  have  been  driven  away  for  their  honey-moon, 
and  the  guests  at  Mount  Pleasant  are  engaged  in  looking 
at  one's  presents,  one  another's  clothes,  and  their  own 
watches,  while  a  group  of  men  have  sought  retirement  and 


148  A    CHANGE    OF    AIK. 

cigars  in  the  garden.  The  lord  lieutenant  was  paying 
compliments  of  alarming  elaboration  and  stateliness  to 
Nellie  Fane;  and  Janet  Delane,  having  discharged  her 
duty  in  that  line  with  generous  graciousness,  was  looking 
with  despair  at  Captain  Ripley's  puzzled  face  and  betugged 
mustache,  and  wondering  why  men  could  not  or  would  not 
understand  plain  English,  and  why— why,  above  all — they 
had  no  more  sense  of  dignity  or  of  timeliness  than  to  re- 
new useless  entreaties  in  a  roomful  of  people,  and— to  de- 
scend to  the  particular  case— with  Dale  Bannister  only  a 
few  yards  away,  paying  obvious  inattention  to  a  rhapsodic 
bride-maid. 

"  Wasn't  it  a  pretty  wedding?"  asked  the  bride-maid. 
"  You  know  I'm  a  stranger  to  Denborough,  and  I  never 
knew  you  had  so  many  beautiful  girls.  It  might  have 
been  St.  Peter's." 

"■Might  it?"  said  Dale,  with  an  absent  smile,  entirely 
unappreciative  of  the  compliment.  He  did  not  know  what 
or  where  St.  Peter's  was. 

"  Oh,  it  was  lovely.  Well,  dear  Tora  herself  is  very 
pretty.  And  then,  Miss  Delane!  1  do  love  that  severe, 
statuesque  style,  don't  you?  How  pale  she  is,  though!  she 
doesn't  look  very  happy,  does  she?  Oh,  and  Miss  Fane! 
Isn't  she  lovely?  She  sings,  doesn't  she?  I  think  people 
of  that  kind  are  so  nice.  Oh,  and  I've  heard  all  _  about 
her.     How  nice  it  was  of  her  to  be  so  brave,  wasn't  it?" 

"  Naturally  I  think  so." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  forgot.  It's  so  nice  when  people  are 
good  and  pretty  too,  isn't  it?  After  all,  good  looks  do  go 
for  something,  don't  they?"  and  she  fixed  a  pair  of  large 
and  unnaturally  innocent  eyes  on  Dale. 

"  You  must  tell  me  about  that,"  he  said  with  labored 
politeness.     "  How  do  you  find  it?" 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Mr.  Bannister!  But,  seriously,  did  you 
ever  see  anything  so  lovely  as  the  way  Sir  Harry  looked  at 
Tora  when  they  were — " 

Dale  had  gone— without  a  word  of  excuse.  He  had  seen 
Janet  rise  abruptly,  with  an  impatient  wave  of  her  hand, 
and  Captain  Ripley  turn  on  his  heel  and  disappear  into  the 
eddying  throng  that  was  circling  round  the  wedding-pres- 
ents.    He  darted  across  to  Janet,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  must  see  you  here,"  he  said,  "  since  you  will  not 
see  me  at  the  Grange." 


A    CHANGE    OF   AIR.  149 

The  bride-maid  marked  their  greeting.  She  rose  with 
offended  dignity  and  returned  to  her  mother.  She  says  to 
this  day  that  she  has  only  known  one  poet,  and  he  was  not 
at  all  nice,  and  concludes,  after  the  manner  of  a  certain 
part  of  humanity,  that  none  of  the  rest  are  nice  either. 

Janet  looked  at  Dale  doubtfully,  then  she  led  the  way  to 
a  little  room  which  was  free  from  the  crowd.  Then  she 
sat  down.  "  I'm  very  tired,"  she  said,  "  and  I  want  to 
stay  here  and  rest.     Will  you  let  me?" 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,  Jan.  How  can  I,  when  I 
never  have  a  chance  of  saying  what  I  want  to  say  to  you? 
You  talk  to  Eipley— " 

"  I  don't  comfort  Gerard  Eipley  much." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Dale,  heartlessly. 

"  I'm  not  much  troubled  about  him.  I'm  only  a  habit 
to  him." 

"  I  don't  care  twopence  about  him.  Jan,  when  is  this 
sort  of  thing  to  end?    Don't  you  like  seeing  me?" 

Janet  had  made  up  her  mind  to  treat  Dale  at  first  with 
simple  friendliness;  if  this  recipe  failed,  it  was  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  distant  civility.  She  answered  collectedly  enough, 
in  spite  of  a  quiver  in  her  voice: 

"  I  thought  I  had  better  not  see  you  just  now." 

"  Why,  in  Heaven's  name?" 

"  I  can't  go  through  it  all  again.  Indeed  I  can't, 
Dale." 

"  Do  you  seriously  expect  me  to  be  content  with  what 
you  said,  then — to  go  away  and  never  come  near  you 
again?" 

Dale  spoke  vehemently.  It  was  obvious  that  the  distant 
civility  would  be  called  into  play.  Perhaps  silence  was 
Janet's  idea  of  it,  for  she  said  nothing. 

"  Because  that's  what  it  comes  to,"  pursued  Dale.  "  Do 
you  imagine,  Jan,  I  could  see  you  now — after  it  all— ex- 
cept as  your  lover?    What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"  Miss  Fane — "  began  Janet  in  a  very  small  voice. 

"  I'll  never  see  Nellie  Fane  again  if  she  robs  me  of 
you,"  Dale  declared,  with  great  energy,  and  probably  per- 
fect, though  unintentional,  untruth. 

Janet  looked  up  and  met  his  eyes.  Then  she  dropped 
hers,  and  said,  in  tones  quite  unlike  those  of  distant  civility : 

"  I  wonder  how  you  care  for  such  a  mean-spirited  creat- 


150  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

ure  as  I  am.  If  I  told  3-011  I  loved  you  still — how  could 
you  believe  me?     I  told  you  before,  and  then  I — " 

"  Behaved  like  a  sensible  girl/' 

"  Oh,  no,  no.     It  was  a  lie  when  I  said — " 

"  Tell  me  another,  then,"  said  Dale.     "  I  like  them." 

Janet's  resistance,  like  Bob  Acres'  courage,  was  oozing 
out  01  her  finger-tips. 

"  I  know  what  it  will  be/'  she  faltered,  plaintively. 
"  You'll  always  be  thinking  about  her,  and  so  shall  I — and 
it  will  be  horrible.  No,  I  won't  do  it.  I  have  some  reso- 
lution, Dale;  it  wasn't  mere  nonsense.     I  did  mean  it." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Dale,  persuasively;  "  you  never  did, 
Jan.  You  had  no  idea  how  bored  you  would  be  without 
me.     Now,  had  you?" 

"  I  can  never  respect  myself  again." 

"  It's  quite  unnecessary,  dear;  I'll  do  all  that." 

"  Are  you  really  quite — quite  sure,  Dale,  that  you  will 
never — " 

"  Oh,  hang  it  all!"  said  Dale,  and  he  kissed  her. 

"  Dale!  the  door's  open." 

Dale  shut  it,  and  the  rest  of  the  conversation  became 
inaudible,  and  remains  unknown. 

The  guests  had  gone.  Mrs.  Hodge  and  Nellie,  who 
were  to  keep  the  colonel  company  for  a  little  while,  had 
walked  down  to  Denborough  to  tell  Mrs.  Roberts  all  about 
the  event  of  the  day;  and  the  colonel  was  bustling  about, 
getting  the  presents  packed  up,  and  counting,  with  some 
surprise,  the  empty  champagne  bottles.  He  was  thus  en- 
gaged when  the  door  of  the  little  room  opened,  to  let 
Janet  and  Dale  out. 

"Dear  me!  I  thought  you'd  gone.  Nellie  asked  me, 
and  I  told  her  so." 

"  I  am  just  going,  Colonel  Smith,"  said  Janet. 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Dale. 

The  colonel  watched  them  go  together. 

"  There's  another  man  going  to  lose  his  daughter,"  he 
said.     "  By  Jove,  I  thought  it  was  to  be  Nellie  Fane!" 

When  Jane  left  Dale  at  the  Grange  gates,  she  went  to 
her  father's  study. 

"  Lord,  child,"  said  the  squire,  "  are  you  only  just 
back?" 

"  I  stayed  to  see  them  off. " 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  151 

"  Your  mother  did  that,  and  she's  been  back  two  hours. 
She  couldn't  find  you." 
. "  Papa/'  said  Janet,  sitting  on  the  arm  of  his  chair, 
"  I'm  very  much  ashamed  of  myself." 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  now?    Ill  treating  that 
poor  young  man  again?" 

"No." 

"  He's  not  a  bad  fellow,  you  know,  after  all— honest 
and  good — not  brilliant,  of  course." 

"  Not  brilliant,  papa?" 

"  I  don't  mean  he's  a  fool;  I  believe  he's  an  efficient 
officer — " 

"  Officer?    Why,  you're  talking  of  Gerard!" 

"  Of  course  I  am." 

"  How  can  you  imagine  I  was  thinking  of  Gerard?  I 
meant  Mr.  Bannister. " 

"  Bannister?    Why,  you  told  me  only  the  other  day— 

"Yes.     That's  why." 

"Why  what,  child?" 

"Why  I'm  ashamed." 

The  squire  raised  himself  and  looked  severely  at  his 
daughter. 

"  A  precious  fuss  you've  made  about  nothing. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  papa.  I  don't  want  to,  but  he  insists." 

"  He  seems  to  know  how  to  manage  you,  which  is  more 
than  I  do.     There,  go  and  tell  your  mother.     And,  Jan!" 

"Yes."  . 

"  If  ever  you  say  you  won't  have  him  again — 

"  Yes,  papa." 

"  By  Jove,  you  sha'n't!"  said  the  squire,  with  emphasis, 
and  he  added,  as  his  daughter  fled  after  a  hasty  kiss, 
"  Perhaps  that'll  keep  her  quiet." 

Dale  found  nobody  but  Philip  Hume  to  congratulate 
him,  and  Philip  was,  as  usual  now,  busy  over  his  little 
plan. 

"  Oh,  she's  come  round,  has  she?"  he  asked,  with  no 
sign  of  surprise. 

Dale  said  she  had,  and  Philip  meditatively  took  up  his 
little  plan. 

"  Have  you  told  Nellie?"  he  asked. 

"No.     I  haven't  seen  her." 

"  She  never  knew  you  had  asked  Miss  Delane  before?" 


152  A    CHANGE    OP   AIR. 

"  No.  Nobody  knew  but  her  people  and  you.  I  think 
she  had  an  idea  I  liked  Jan." 

"  Yes,  but  not  more?" 

"No.     I  don't  think  so." 

Philip  whistled  gently,  and  twisted  the  little  plan  in  his 
fingers.     Dale,  in  his  good  humor,  said: 

"  Why  the  deuce,  Phil,  do  you  go  on  fidgeting  with  that 
thing?    You're  like  an  old  hen  over  an  egg." 

"  Yes;  I  don't  know  that  it  is  any  good.  I  think  I'll 
destroy  it." 

And.  he  tore  it  slowly  in  two,  and  threw  it  in  the  fire. 

"  The  vindictive  theory  of  punishment,"  he  remarked, 
with  apparent  irrelevance,  "does  not  commend  itself  to 
me.  If  no  evil  consequences  exist  to  be  averted,  why 
should  we  punish?"  and  he  pushed  the  plan  further  into 
the  blaze  with  the  poker. 

"  If  you  want  to  argue  that  sort  of  thing,  old  fellow, 
you  must  ring  for  Wilson.  I'm  going  to  have  a  try  at 
some  verses." 

"  Going  to  write  your  own  epitaph,  like  Swift?" 

Dale  shook  his  head  and  smiled,  with  the  impenetrable, 
hopeless  happiness  of  successful  love. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A  VILLAIN    UNMASKED. 

A  few  days  after  Dale's  love  affairs  had  begun  to  flow 
in  a  more  peaceful  channel,  the  mayor  of  Market  Denbor- 
ough  had  an  interview  with  Mr.  Philip  Hume,  and  Philip 
emerged  from  the  conversation  with  a  smile  of  mingled 
amusement  and  perplexity  on  his  face.  The  mayor  had 
been  to  the  Grange;  the  squire  fully  approved  of  the 
scheme;  a  hundred  pounds  was  subscribed  already,  and 
another  twenty  or  thirty  exjoected.  Philip  was  requested 
to  act  as  an  intermediary,  and  find  out  from  Miss  Fane 
what  form  she  would  prefer  that  the  testimonial  which 
Denborough  intended  to  offer  her,  in  recognition  of  her 
signal  gallantry,  should  take. 

"  I  wanted  to  wait  and  make  it  a  wedding-present," 
said  the  mayor,  with  a  wink,  "  but  the  squire  thinks  we 
had  better  not  wait  for  that." 

"  Ah,  does  he?"  said  Philip. 

"  Though  what  Mr.  Bannister's  waitin'  for  I  can't  see; 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  153 

and  I  said  as  much  to  Miss  Janet  when  I  met  her  in  the 
garden. " 

"  What  did  she  say?"  asked  Philip,  in  some  curiosity. 

"  Well,  sir,  now  you  ask  me,  I  don't  think  she  said 
anything.  She  seemed  a  bit  put  out  like  about  some- 
thing." 

"  It  couldn't  have  been  anything  you  said?" 

"  Why,  no,  sir.  I  only  said  as  I  shouldn't  be  slow  to 
move  if  a  young  lady  like  Miss  Fane  was  waitin'  for  me — 
and  her  havin'  saved  my  life,  too." 

"  Good  Lord!" 

"  Beggin'  your  pardon,  sir?" 

"  Nothing,  Mr.  Mayor,  nothing." 

"  You'll  see  Miss  Fane  about  it?  She  hasn't  left  the 
colonel's." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so.     Yes,  I'll  see  her." 

Dale  had  gone  to  London,  alleging  that  he  had  shopping 
to  do,  and  hardly  denying  that  his  business  would  lie 
chiefly  at  the  jeweler's.  Philip  was  glad  that  he  was  away, 
for  he  thus  could  start  on  his  mission  unquestioned.  He 
found  Nellie  at  home,  and  at  once  plunged  into  the  mat- 
ter. Directly  Nellie  understood  what  was  proposed,  she 
jumped  up,  "crying : 

"  Oh,  no,  they  mustn't.     You  must  stop  them." 

"  Why,  it's  a  very  natural  tribute — " 

"  I  won't  have  it!  I  can't  have  it!  You  must  tell 
them,  Mr.  Hume." 

"  It'll  look  rather  ungracious,  won't  it?  Why  shouldn't 
you  take  their  present?"  he  asked,  looking  at  her  in  a 
half-amused  way. 

"  Oh,  no,  no!  You  don't  understand.  Oh,  what  a 
wretched  girl  I  am!"  and  Nellie,  flinging  herself  in  a  chair, 
began  to  cry. 

He  sat  and  watched  her  with  a  grim  smile,  which  he 
made  an  effort  to  maintain.  But  the  sobs  were  rather  pit- 
eous, and  the  smile  gradually  became  very  mildly  fero- 
cious, and  presently  vanished  altogether.  Presently,  also, 
Nellie  stopped  crying,  sat  up,  and  stared  in  front  of  her 
with  a  dazed  look  and  parted  lips. 

"Well?"  said  Philip. 

"  I  won't  receive  the  testimonial." 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say?"  he  asked,  in  a  tone  of 
disappointment. 


154  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  Yes/'  she  answered,  plucking  nervously  at  her  hand- 
kerchief, "that's  all." 

"  No  reason  to  give?" 

"  Tell  them  that  there's  nothing  to  give  me  a  testimon- 
ial for." 

"  Shall  I?"  he  asked. 

Nellie  glanced  at  him  with  a  start,  but  in  an  instant  she 
recovered  herself. 

"  I  mean  that  I  would  much  rather  no  more  fuss  was 
made  about  what  I  did." 

"As  you  please,"  he  said,  coldly.  "I  will  tell  the 
mayor,  and  get  him  to  stop  the  thing." 

"  Is  Dale  at  home?"  she  asked,  as  Philip  rose.  _ 

"He's  gone  to  town.  Do  you  want  to  see  him  about 
anything?" 

<<  No— nothing  in  particular— only— I  haven't  seen  him 
for  three  or  four  days." 

"  Are  you  staying  here  long?" 

"  I  am  staying  till  Tora  comes  home,  and  then  I  go  to 
her." 

"  Well,  good-bye.    I'll  tell  the  mayor." 

"  Thank  you  so  much.     Good-bye." 

She  was  quite  calm  again  by  now;  her  sudden  fit  of  agi- 
tation was  over,  and  apparently  she  felt  nothing  more  than 
a  distaste  for  the  parade  of  a  public  presentation.  So 
easy  and  natural  had  her  bearing  become  that  Philip 
Hume,  as  he  walked  away,  wondered  if  he  had  been  on  a 
wrong  scent  after  all.  If  so,  he  had  behaved  in  a  very 
brutal — 

He  broke  off  his  thoughts  abruptly,  to  recognize  and 
bow  to  Janet  Delane,  who  whirled  by  in  her  victoria,  on 
the  way  to  Mount  Pleasant.  She  seemed  to  be  going  to 
pay  a  visit  to  Nellie  Fane.  Philip,  who  liked  to  hear  how 
things  happen,  regretted  that  he  had  cut  his  own  visit 
short  and  missed  Janet's  entry. 

Janet  whirled  on.  Her  balance  of  mind,  delicately 
poised  between  her  love  and  her  pride,  had  suffered  a  new 
and  severe  shock  from  the  mayor's  jocose  remarks.  She 
could  not  rest.  She  felt  that  "she  must  see  for  herself — 
must  see  Nellie  and  find  out  why  everybody  thought  what 
they  did— yes,  and  what  Nellie  thought.  She  was  full  of 
things  which  she  had  to  say  to  Nellie;  she  was  prepared, 
if  need  be,  again  to  sacrifice  herself  for  Nellie,  but  the 


A    CHAtfGE    OF    AIB.  155 

truth  about  it  all  at  least  she  was  determined  to  hear;  on 
what  it  was,  Dale's  uncertain  happiness  again  hung  sus- 
pended. With  her  usual  frankness  and  candor,  she  straight- 
way began  to  tell  Nellie  all  her  story.  Nellie  listened  in 
almost  stony  stillness. 

"  It's  so  hard  to  speak  of,"  said  Janet,  "  but  yet  I  think 
we  must.  It  is  wretched  to  let  things  go  on  like  this.  At 
least  I  am  wretched,  and  I  fear  he  is,  and — " 

"  I'm  sure  I  am,"  said  Nellie,  with  a  forlorn  laugh. 

Janet  came  and  knelt  by  her  and  took  her  hands. 

"  You  too?  you  whom  we  all  admire  so?  Oh,  what  a 
world  it  is!     Why  did  I  ever  love  him?" 

"  Ah,  you  do  love  him?" 

"  Yes.  And  why  did  I  ever  make  him  love  me?  Ah, 
Nellie,  if  only—" 

Nellie  had  sprung  up. 

"  How  do  you  know  he  loves  you?"  she  cried. 

"  How  do  I  know,  dear?    Why,  he  told  me." 

"  When?  when?" 

"  Why,  before — the  day  before  it  all  happened.  But 
since  then  I  have  felt,  and  I  told  him,  that  he  belonged  to 
you — I  mean,  dear,  that  it  must  be  you  now  whom  he 
must  really  love,  and  that  I — " 

Nellie  was  not  listening. 

"  He  told  you  before?'  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes,  the  clay  before.     But  afterward — " 

"  You  were  actually  engaged  then?" 

"  Yes,  we  were." 

"  I  never  knew  it.  I  didn't  know  that.  Oh,  how 
wicked  I  have  been!" 

"  WTicked?  WThat  do  you  mean?"  asked  Janet,  puzzled 
at  her  companion's  strange  behavior. 

Nellie  stood  silent,  and  Janet  went  on. 

"  But  I  feel,  I  can't  help  feeling,  that  it  is  to  you  he 
owes  his  life — to  you — " 

"Be  quiet!"  cried  Nellie.     "  Are  you  engaged  now?" 

"I— I  don't  know." 

"  Does  he  still  love  you?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so." 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me?  Why  did  you  keep  me  in 
the  dark?     Why  did  you  tempt  me?" 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  understand." 


156  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

"  I  didn't  know  he  had  told  you.  I  only  thought  he 
had  a  fancy —    Oh,  and  I  loved  him  too!     I  did  indeed!" 

"  I  know,  dear/'  said  Janet;  "  and  so,  when  you  had 
been  so  brave,  and  I  so  cowardly — " 

"  Stop!"  cried  Nellie  again,  and  as  she  spoke  the  door 
opened  and  Dale  Bannister  came  in.  He  was  fresh  back 
from  London,  and  had  ridden  over  to  see  Nellie. 

He  stood  and  looked  in  surprise  from  one  to  the  other. 
There  was  evidently  something  more  than  an  afternoon 
call  going  on. 

Nellie  greeted  his  coming  almost  gladly. 

"  Ah,  you  are  here?  Then  I  can  tell  you.  I  can't  bear 
it  any  longer.  Oh,  Dale,  I  didn't  know  you  had  told  her. 
Indeed  I  didn't,  or  I  would  never  have  done  it;"  and, 
carried  away  by  her  emotion,  she  fell  on  her  knees  before 
him. 

"  Why,  Nellie,  what  in  the  world's  the  matter?" 

"  I  have  been  wicked,"  she  went  on  quickly,  clinging 
to  his  hand.  "  I  have  deceived  you.  I  have  told  you  lies. 
Oh,  how  wicked  I  have  been!" 

Dale  looked  inquiringly  at  Janet,  but  she  shook  her  head 
in  bewilderment. 

"  Well,  Nellie,  let's  sit  down  quietly  and  hear  the  vil- 
lainy.    What  is  it?" 

She  refused  to  let  him  raise  her,  and  went  on,  as  she 
was,  on  her  knees. 

"  I  didn't  meant  it  at  first.  I  didn't  think  of  it,  but 
when  I  found  you  all  thought  it,  and — and  you  were 
pleased,  Dale,  I  couldn't  help  it." 

Dale  saw  the  only  chance  of  arriving  at  the  truth  was 
not  to  interrupt.     He  signed  to  Janet  to  keep  silence. 

"  I  came  up  meaning  to  warn  you.  I  was  afraid  for 
you.  I  saw  you  standing  by  the  tree,  and  I  was  running 
toward  you,  and  all  of  a  sudden  I  saw  him,  and  the  pistol, 
and—" 

She  paused  and  drooped  her  head.  Dale  pressed  her 
hand  and  said: 

"  Well,  Nellie?" 

"  I  was  afraid,"  she  said,  "  and  I  turned  and  began  to 
run  away,  and  as  I  was  running,  it  hit  me."  And,  her 
confession  ended,  she  sunk  into  a  little  woe-begone  heap  on 
the  floor  at  his  feet. 

Dale  understood  now.     She  had  been  tempted  by  the 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIK.  157 

hope  of  winning  his  love  through  his  gratitude,  and  had 
not  refused  the  false  glory  they  all  thrust  upon  her.  Now 
she  had  hearcMier  hopes  were  vain,  that  they  had  been 
vain  even  before  that  night,  and  in  the  misery  of  sin,  and 
useless  sin,  she  lay  crying  at  his  feet,  not  daring  to  look 
up  at  him. 

He  stood  there  awkwardly,  as  a  man  stands  when  he 
feels  more  moved  than  he  allows  himself  to  show. 

''Poor  child  I"  he  said,  with  a  break  in  his  voice. 
"Poor  child !" 

Janet  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  What  does  she  say?  That  she  didn't  save  you?"  she 
whispered,  eagerly.     "  That  she  was  running  away?" 

Dale  nodded,  and  Janet  fell  down  beside  Nellie,  em- 
bracing her,  and  saying,  half  laughing,  half  crying:  "  Oh, 
Nellie,  how  sweet,  how  sweet  of  you  to  have  been  a  coward 
too!" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A  VISION*. 

The  lawn  at  Dirkham  Grange  was  a  gay  scene.  The 
institute  was  opened,  the  luncheon  consumed,  the  royal 
duke  gone,  full  to  the  last  of  graciousness,  though  the  poor 
fellow  was  hungry  for  solitude  and  cigars;  and  now  the 
society  of  the  county  was  unbending  in  friendly  condescen- 
sion to  the  society  of  the  town,  and  talking  the  whole 
thing  over  under  the  trees  and  beside  the  bright  flower- 
beds. Lord  Cransford,  between  Janet  and  Dale,  mingled 
praises  of  the  ode  with  congratulations  on  the  engagement; 
no  one  would  have  guessed  that  he  shared  a  son's  disap- 
pointment. The  mayor  indifferently  dissembled  his  ex- 
ultation over  the  whisper  of  a  knighthood  which  a  hint 
from  his  royal  highness  had  set  running  through  the  com- 
pany. Mrs.  Johnstone  sat  placidly  in  an  arm-chair,  the 
ruby  velvet  spread  in  careful  folds,  while  Sir  Harry  Ful- 
mer  paid  her  compliments,  and  wondered  where  his  wife 
was,  and  how  soon  they  might  go;  and  his  wife  walked 
with  the  squire,  declaring  in  her  impetuous  way  that  Nel- 
lie Fane's  deceit  was  the  most  beautiful  and  touching  thing 
she  had  ever  heard  of,  whereat  the  squire  tugged  his 
whisker,  and  said  that  nobody  was  disposed  to  be  hard  on 
her.     Mrs.  Roberts  had  made  her  first  public  appearance, 


158  A    CHANGE    OF    AIR. 

diligently  attended  by  Dr.  Spink,  who  said,  but  was  disbe- 
lieved in  saying,  that  she  still  needed  constant  care. 
Nellie  Fane  herself  had  been  persuaded  to  come,  on  a 
promise  that  the  mayor  should  not  be  allowed  to  reopen 
the  subject  of  the  testimonial;  and  Arthur  Angell,  in  whose 
breast  hope  was  once  more  a  sojourner,  had  led  her  to  a 
retired  walk,  and  was  reading  to  her  a  set  of  verses,  called 
"  Love's  Crime;"  and  Nellie  shook  her  head,  saying  that 
there  was  no  inducement  to  be  good  if  every  one  consjrired 
to  pet  and  pamper  the  wicked. 

Philip  Hume  sat  alone  under  a  spreading  tree,  looking 
on,  and  talking  to  nobody.  The  bustle  of  the  morning, 
and  the  sumptuous  midday  meal  worked  together  with  the 
warm  afternoon  air  and  the  distant  sounds  of  the  yeomanry 
band  to  make  him  a  little  drowsy,  and  he  watched  the 
people  walking  to  and  fro,  and  heard  their  chatter  in  a 
half -wakeful,  half-sleeping  state.  And,  strange  as  it  seems 
in  this  workaday,  skeptical  age,  he  fell  into  a  sort  of  trance, 
and  visions  of  what  should  be  were  vouchsafed  to  him,  and 
if  the  visions  were  not  true,  at  least  they  had  a  look  of 
truth. 

He  saw  a  man,  handsome  still,  for  all  that  his  thick  hair 
was  a  little  thinned  by  time  and  his  waistcoat  was  broaden- 
ing, and  the  man  read  in  a  mellow  voice  lines,  which  Philip 
did  not  hear  very  plainly,  about  the  greatness  of  England, 
the  glory  of  the  throne,  and  the  calmer  judgment  of 
circling  years  tempering  the  heat  of  youth.  Then  a 
stately  dame  touched  him  gently  on  the  shoulder,  saying 
that  the  verses  were  magnificent,  but  the  carriage  waited 
to  take  him  to  the  levee  ;  and  he  rose  to  go  with  a  smile, 
not  seeming  to  notice  a  pale  ghost,  that  clinched  impotent, 
shadowy  hands  in  wrath  and  with  a  scowl  shrunk  away. 
Suddenly,  across  this  vision  came  the  form  of  Mrs.  Hodge, 
white-haired,  but  cheerful  and  buxom  as  of  yore,  and  she 
said:  "  Well,  Hume,  she's  made  Arthur  a  happy  man  at 
last;"  and  the  mayor,  who  somehow  happened  to  be  there, 
wearing  on  his  breast  a  large  placard,  inscribed  "  Sir 
James  Hedger,  Knight,"  added,  quite  in  his  old  way: 
"We  were  all  wrong,  Mr.  Hume,  sir,  except  you,  sir, 
beggin'  your  pardon."  Then  the  squire's  voice  broke 
in,  as  though  in  the  course  of  an  argument,  and  declared 
that  it  was  nonsense  to  attribute  Dale's  change  of  views  to 
anything  except  growing  wisdom;   and  the  phantom  of 


A    CHANGE    OF    AIR.  159 

Colonel  Smith,  a  copy  of  "  The  Clarion  "  in  his  hand, 
answered:  "Bosh!"  And  a  crowd  of  quite  indistinguish- 
able, well-dressed  shades  gathered  round  the  colonel,  and 
Philip  heard  them  talking  about  the  inevitable  gravitation 
of  culture  and  intelligence.  But  the  Colonel  still  an- 
swered "  Bosh!"  and  Philip  did  not  hear  the  end  of  the 
matter,  nor  where  the  truth  of  it  lay;  for  presently  all  the 
forms  passed  away,  and  he  saw  a  little  room,  a  little  dingy 
room,  and  a  gray-haired,  slouching  fellow  in  an  old  coat, 
smoking  an  old  pipe  and  scribbbling  on  foolscap,  scribbling 
away  far  into  the  night,  and  then  sitting  and  musing  for  a 
solitary  half  hour  in  front  of  his  dying  fire  before  he  went 
to  bed.  There  was  something  in  this  figure  that  made 
Philip  curious,  and  he  went  nearer  and  looked.  Hush!  It 
was  himself,  and — 

He  awoke  with  a  start.  Dale  was  smiling  down  on  him 
with  his  old  friendly  smile,  and  saying  to  Janet  Delane: 

"  We  shall  never  let  this  old  chap  leave  us  for  long, 
shall  we,  Jan?" 


THE    END. 


The  Mayor  of  Casterbridge 

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The  Wonderful  Adventures  of - 

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